


Blood

by cassiem



Category: Block B
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Blood, Contract Killer AU, Drug Use, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Violence, pls don't hate us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 206,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7245601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiem/pseuds/cassiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because if they hadn’t met that day in the laundromat—hadn’t sparked like flint and set a fire raging—then Jiho wouldn’t be in this mess either, wouldn't have the weight of both their transgressions on his shoulders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a RP type of thing between me and a friend ([hyonestly](http://twitter.com/hyonestly)) and escalated dramatically. As such, the pace of it is a little bit unconventional compared to most fics. I wrote Jiho (and M) and she wrote Kyung in a back-and-forth style, which may take a bit of getting used to at first!

He’d waited for the most opportune moment (i.e. when his classmates started eyeing his shirts before excusing themselves within an arm's length of him) before going, and that’s how he found himself sitting on a cold ass bench in nothing but his Transformers boxers, dully watching the machine spin in almost hypnotic circles. It’s a typical Saturday morning—so, crying kids, drunk people sitting equally as naked as him on washing machines, on upturned baskets, someone devouring a full-course meal on the ground, a couple actually making out at the corner that Kyung has to avert his eyes from in an attempt to be polite… and then there’s the guy currently unloading his clothes into the washing machine next to Kyung’s. It’s soiled, that much is obvious, but it’s soaked heavily in a liquid that leaves red stains on the man’s fingers. This is a scene that Kyung’s only seen on television, and not even the good kind of television either, because the blood’s heavy and thick and tangy and— god, Kyung’s going to be sick.

Or he would be, if he could just stop staring. How could one man have that much blood on his hands? It’s just not mathematically possible, considering that the average human had a limited amount needed to stay inside their bodies for them to function. Whatever it is, Kyung can’t tear his eyes away, mouthing hanging open unattractively to boot.

//

_Don’t fucking do it, Jiho, don’t open your goddamn mouth, don’t fucking –_

“Can I help you?” he snarls sarcastically at the near-naked man sitting next to him with his mouth hanging wide open, his hair wild and unbrushed, eyes wide.

 _God fucking damn it_. He always goes and puts his fucking foot in his mouth – he should have just kept quiet, not said anything, ignored the stares and left with his clean clothes but _no_ his stupid mouth had to say something – he’s always been a sucker for pretty boys and this one is no exception.  
  
Alright, there’d been a little more blood than planned. That was fine. He could deal with blood. What he couldn’t deal with was his washing machine _breaking_ at the most inopportune time possible, right after he’d come home dripping with blood from a contract.

So here he is, in this stupid fucking laundromat, with this pretty – inwardly he chastises himself for even thinking that – man staring so blatantly at the blood-heavy clothes he’s shoving violently into the washing machine.

//

Kyung’s been in exactly one fight in his life, and he’d spent the entire duration of that fight talking his way out of it. He was genetically small, which meant that he was genetically predisposed to collapsing like a souffle if he ever got into a fistfight, so he tended to avoid it like the plague. This though— this man is intimidating. The blood certainly doesn’t help, and Kyung is sure that the look in his eyes is a plea for psychiatric help even if the rest of him is pretty damn attractive. But that’s not the _point_.

“No,” he immediately blurts out, holding his hands up as if in surrender. It’s bad enough to get into a fight, but it’s even worse to be in a fight half-naked. His boxers don’t provide much comfort, that’s for sure. He drags a hand through his hair and wills his brain to run faster but the entire situation leaves him drawing a blank.

“That’s not how you get rid of blood, man,” he says, and then regrets it immediately. What the hell does he know about getting rid of blood stains aside from the fact that he does _not_ want to get rid of blood stains, least of all his own.

“I’m also pretty sure there’s protocol against that here?” he adds, pointing at the large, rusty signage by the door.

//

It’s been a long day – the only thing keeping Jiho on his feet right now is the remainder of adrenaline running through his veins, and the four energy drinks he’d slammed not five minutes ago. As a result he feels like he’s on a hair-trigger, any perceived notion of an affront being likely to set him off. And this isn’t just a perceived notion of an affront, it _is_ one – this twiggy _gorgeous_ little man with his hair flopping into his eyes, goosebumps pimpling his flesh, is pushing his buttons in ways he doesn’t like.

“Do I look like I give a _fuck_ about protocol?” he spits, taking a step closer to the man, who cringes back. “Look around you. There’s a guy knuckle-deep in his girlfriend over there and you think anyone cares about _protocol?”_

He takes a deep breath and pauses. It wouldn’t look good to start beating the shit out of a stranger in front of all these people, and he just wants to go home and fall into bed and sleep for a week – preferably _with_ some clean clothes – so he sighs, looking at his palms, covered in blood. “Alright. How do you get rid of blood, then? Enlighten me.”

//

Kyung can’t tell if he’s going to shit himself or if he’s finding all this highly attractive, and the thought that all of that’s only being held back by the thin fabric of Bumblebee’s face is mildly alarming. Not as alarming as the 6 foot tall stranger now crowding into his personal space, however. But Park Kyung is nothing if he doesn’t excel under stress, so he puts on his best grin and regrettably, pats the man’s shoulder in a way he hopes won’t end up with his wrist broken.

“Some bleach would help?” Kyung hazards, _still patting_. It’s like his hand’s moving automatically, disconnected from the rest of him. He fixes his gaze on the stranger’s face, instead, trying to draw attention away from his hand. “My mom spilled an entire bottle of wine on my dad, once. She… well, she actually ended up throwing out that shirt?” Shit. “Maybe you might– want to… do… the same?”

Oh shit. This is how he’s going to die. His mom’d warned him about the dangers of the big city, and okay, Kyung thinks there’s something heroic about getting mugged to death. But being beaten to a pulp in the corner of the laundromat? Next to a guy fingering his chick? That’s just ludicrous and embarrassing.

//

The man is still fucking patting him, even as Jiho just stares at him blankly. The absurdity of the situation hits him – he’s far more comfortable decapitating a man than he is being touched platonically by one. Instead of breaking the man’s wrist – again, not good to cause a scene, he’s already garnered enough attention as it is – he simply sidesteps away, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at the shorter man.

“But I liked that shirt.”

And he did. It was his favourite shirt, the one with Pamela Anderson on it, in a bikini. It was amusing and he found it slightly ironic somehow in a way that he didn’t really understand; he hadn’t intended to wear it out when he was called out on a job, but it was a last minute thing and he hadn’t had time to change.

The man is staring up at him, terrified, and Jiho finds himself biting his lip to hold back a smile. The stranger has done a complete 180 on his mood – instead of wanting to break his fucking neck right here in the laundromat (he can hear, off to his right, that the couple is _still_ going at it), he’s amused, wants to see more.

//

There’s a subtle shift in the stranger’s crazy-eyes. It’s a shift that tells Kyung he’s found his next prey, and it’s _terrifying_. Kyung’s gaze slides left, then right, then straight ahead again as he gulps. If he were to get mauled here and now, there’s no one in his vicinity that can remotely even help him, let alone stop the guy.

Okay, he’s talked himself out of more fatal situations. Like that one time his grandma tried to convince him to revert back into the Park Family’s House of the Lord. Getting his throat slit isn’t that bad, by comparison.

“Yeah, blood is all the rage now,” Kyung returns, trying to keep both the fear and the condescension out of his voice, and lands somewhere near strained. That’s not good either. “It’s a t-shirt. The likelihood of you finding a second, stain-free one is high, right? I’m Park Kyung, by the way, and I vote you make better fashion choices.” He’s highly aware that he’s wearing nothing but lurid yellow cartooned boxers, right now, but it’s not like he can’t still have a say.

//

Jiho just laughs and turns back to the washing machine, shoving the rest of the clothes in and digging around in his pocket for coins. There’s no fucking bleach around – he has some at home but of course he hadn’t thought to bring it because he’s really not firing on all cylinders today – so he may as well take his chances on the washing machine, although he suspects his shirt is ruined for all eternity.

“I’m Woo Jiho,” he mutters, slotting the coins into the machine one by one impatiently. “And I think you’ve got some pretty big balls to be saying that while wearing… those. Do you even own a shirt?” He eyes Kyung’s ghastly fluorescent boxers warily.

Yes, this man is highly amusing – not that Jiho would ever tell him that. He slots the last coin in and leans against the door of the washing machine wearily, closing his eyes for a moment. He’s just so fucking _tired,_  and the energy drinks are beginning to wear off.

//

It's almost a relief to see the man— _Woo Jiho_ —submit to the washing machine via coins as well. For a moment there Kyung'd seen his life flash before his eyes, and his life told him that it didn't want to end here.

"First of all, these boxers are glorious," Kyung declares, puffing up his chest a little uselessly, since the man was at least a head taller than him when he's currently wearing his obnoxious bee print flip flops. So maybe Jiho was onto something after all. "Secondly, you're gonna try and wash blood out with water? _Seriously?"_

Kyung has enough tact left not to mention that the guy looks like he's about to keel over into the washing machine, his eyes heavy and bagged and tired. That and the combination of the blood-soaked shirt should really be a warning sign for Kyung to back the fuck off, but evidently his self-preservation's currently in the dryer along with his clothes.

//

“Glorious,” Jiho chuckles, opening his eyes to see Kyung standing on his tip toes, his chin up in such a show of false bravado that he can’t stop himself from smiling weakly. “You know what, I take it back. If you think that shade of yellow is glorious you can keep your other clothes away from me. As for the water… I don’t exactly have a choice. Do you see any bleach around here?”

His legs seem to give out from underneath him and he sags into a heap on the bench in front of his washer, leaning his head against it so the vibrations and rattles reverberate through his skull, making his teeth chatter uncontrollably. He has to wait – what, twenty minutes for this wash to be done? Twenty minutes with this irritating but fascinating little man (who the fuck puffs up their chest at someone who is way taller than them, covered in blood and obviously pissed off?) and then he can fall into bed and sleep for a fucking month if he wants to.

//

 _Should've brought the bleach before you got here_ , Kyung thinks to himself, because his brain to mouth filter may often be faulty, he doesn't have an actual death wish. Not when he's made it this far through University. Before he can offer his own washing detergent, though, the man's legs seem to give out under him and he keels, not quite as predicted, against the washing machine.

"Dude," Kyung says, rushing forward despite the logical part of his mind to stay the fuck away. "Don't tell me that blood was yours. You'd be dead if it were, right?" And then he's squatting (probably bad form for everyone else, considering he only has his boxers on) to squint questioningly at this Jiho guy. An unexpected twist for laundry day, and one he can almost frame into a pleasant one if he just focuses on how hot the stranger is instead of his bloody clothes or the dazed, almost dead look on his face.

"Dying in a laundromat's a pretty shit way to go, y'know," Kyung adds, almost as an afterthought, as if to persuade the guy not to expire on the spot.

//

“Not going to fucking die, asshole,” he spits out, cracking open an eye to see Kyung squatting on the floor in front of him, and immediately shutting it again when he realises he can see straight up the leg of his boxers. “And it’s not my blood.”

Kyung looks really fucking – eugh, fuck it, he’s too tired to pretend he’s not attracted to this weird stranger who keeps talking to him despite all the warning signs – _hot_ like that, his face creased up in worry, licking his lips nervously. _Even_ if Jiho can see more than he’d like to right now, thanks to Kyung’s boxers. He scans the rest of the laundromat (even when he can’t keep his eyes open, his training has been drilled into him so many times that it’s just automatic) but things are largely the same – the girl is jacking her boyfriend off now but that’s about it. Abstractly, he wonders if they’ll actually end up having sex right here in the laundromat, and if so, if he should film it and upload it to redtube or something.

//

Absently, Kyung wonders if the guy's just chronically grumpy or this was a side-effect of whatever the hell that went down that led him here, bleachless, with a bloodied t-shirt. Whichever one it was, Kyung's survival instinct tells him that he probably shouldn't stick around to find out.

"Okay, I'm just checking," Kyung defends, raising his hands. He's not sure if Jiho's actually checking him out, or that he was about to pass out. "I'm gonna have to ask you to work with me here. Yell once if you feel like you're passing out. Twice if you're dying." Patting the guy's knee, he wonders if a cup of coffee would help bring him back from the brink of death. "And it'll be great if you could keep your eyes on my face, y'know? Out of common courtesy that those two over there—” Kyung points a thumb over in the direction of the couple in the corner “—are clearly lacking in."

//

Jiho barks a cough of laughter. "You noticed too, huh?" he deadpans, his head lolling around to stare at Kyung – his face this time, not allowing his eyes to dip lower. "Not that they're being subtle, exactly. I wonder if he brought a condom."

Fifteen more minutes. That's all he has to last until he can stagger home and sleep. Coincidentally, it had taken fifteen minutes for him to kill that man this morning. Normally he would do it in seconds but his instructions were 'make him suffer' so that's exactly what Jiho did.

"Where's the best place to get coffee around here?" his mouth blurts before his brain can catch up.

Fuck. His goal had been to get in, wash his clothes, get out. Now he's stuck with a _very_ attractive man peering at him worriedly, and Jiho has just – fuck, it sounds like an invitation. Not that he'd mind getting coffee with this man – it's just –

 _Fuck it. Fuck it all to hell_ , he thinks, opening his eyes to blink down at Kyung.

//

“Are you _propositioning_ me?” Kyung shoots back immediately, quirking an amused brow. The murderous aura had dissipated, but that probably has to do with the fact that his eyes keep drifting down to Kyung’s Bumblebee boxers. And while, okay, Kyung can’t really give much credit to the man’s _taste_ , he’s not going to lie and say that he’s not flattered, even if they’d started out with Jiho wanting to break his neck.

“Because if you asked directly, I’d have said yes. Not with those clothes though, just saying,” Kyung adds, gesturing in the direction of the washer. This is turning out to be one hell of a surreal experience, but then again, Kyung’s being hit on (potentially?) in nothing but his flip-flops and boxers. Weirder things could probably happen, least of all the fact that the guy’s actually hot, regardless of how sleep-deprived he looked. This is probably Kyung’s libido talking, but the whole tired-look played out well. “How about you buy me a coffee and I’ll pay for a new shirt? I’ll choose. And I’ll only make it minimally outlandish, I swear.”

//

He could back down and say ‘no, i’m not propositioning you, it was an honest question’ and just grab his washing and leave, forget that he’d ever met Park Kyung with his fluro boxers and stupid bumblebee thongs, go back to his life with his shitty apartment and shitty job. That would be the easy way out and it would be a good way to ensure that Kyung never gets tangled up with him and his life – because there’s always the possibility that a coffee date can lead to more.

As those thoughts run through his head, one after the other, he realises he must either be really fucking tired or he _really_ likes this odd man, because he’s never hesitated at anything before, _ever_. It’s just not in his nature. It’s what makes him so good at his job.

Perhaps he’s getting soft.

“Yes, that’s me propositioning you,” he replies, jumping in headfirst like he usually does. “Although I don’t know if I agree with your plan to buy me a new shirt. I don’t exactly trust your sense of fashion from what…” he runs his eyes languidly over Kyung’s body, from his lips to his toes, before looking Kyung in the eye again. “...I have seen so far.”

//

“Too late, I got there first, it’s a done deal,” Kyung says in an excited rush, once more patting Jiho’s shoulder. He briefly considers the pile of work he has to do, then dismisses it entirely. Firstly because he could sacrifice some sleep in lieu of trying out something… new. Secondly, Jiho’s hot, it’s as easy as that. Kyung may be labelled a math nerd, but he’s a math nerd who’d seen enough naked people to know that he wants to see Jiho naked, too. And the fact that Jiho’d threatened him had nothing to do with it at all. None whatsoever.

“Look,” Kyung says, moving to where his dryer had started to beep loudly. It’s one of the newer models, which meant that he could get everything done in one, but already it carried the stained badge of honour of wars fought with one too many loads of clothing. With as much grandeur as he can muster while mostly naked, Kyung begins to unload his clothes. “I have great taste.” Out comes a Spongebob two-tone tee. “You just don’t have the capacity to appreciate it.” Then comes his shut-the-fuck-up-and-study sweatpants. “It’s okay, it takes time. Practice. _Years_ of experience.” And at the bottom of his pile is his soft pink sweater, a little discoloured from repeated usage over the years. “You know what? Take your pick. You look like you need it.”

// 

All of a sudden the tired deliriousness hits and Jiho doubles over, laughing so hard he starts coughing, clutching his stomach desperately. Kyung’s clothes are all as ridiculous as the conversation they’re having, and it just endears him to Jiho even more. Kyung’s looking at him worriedly as he stops laughing, dragging a hand across the back of his mouth. 

“Alright,” he says, eyeing the pile of clothes like it’s about to leap up and bite him, pushing up his sleeves and diving in, sifting through sweatpants and t-shirts, pushing aside a threadbare pinkish sweater, pulling out a pair of black jeans with rips at the knees and discarding them immediately, when he sees it – a soft baby blue sweater with a graphic of a yellow Lamborghini Diablo on the front. He pulls it out and holds it up in front of him, examining it; it’s a little tattered and faded, and the cuffs are a little baggy, but it’s soft and warm from the dryer and he loves it instantly.

Not wasting any time, in one smooth movement he drops the sweater, pulls his own t-shirt over his head (shirtlessness is clearly not an issue here given the current state of the couple in the corner), and reaches for the sweater again, pulling it on and sighing happily as the fluffy warmth envelops him. It may seem ridiculous for a contract killer to be standing in a laundromat, hugging himself with his eyes closed in bliss, but Jiho has seen stranger – it’s the small things in life, you know?

“Thanks,” he mutters, opening his eyes and smiling down at Kyung happily.

// 

Before… _this_ Kyung’d pegged the guy as insane at about 65%. Now that statistic had risen significantly, and Kyung’s just about beginning to feel regret for agreeing to coffee and then offering to buy him a shirt. Kyung could very well lose more than just money; his parents were never going to forgive him for making them hold his funeral. But then again, the way the guy’s smiling is both creepy and warming, with Kyung’s opinion leaning towards the latter. This is gonna come back and bite him in the ass, some day.

“Whoa,” Kyung breathes out, not quite expecting that megawatt smile. It softens him, somewhat, makes him look like an overgrown child instead of someone that Kyung fully believes can kill with a snap of a neck. The blood seemed very damning. At the same time, Kyung can’t help but feel drawn anyway—curious, intrigued in the way you were when you didn’t know what lay behind a locked door. He found that he wanted to _know_ , and it’s that sort of thirst that’s perhaps the most dangerous kind.

“It’s just a sweater. You’re gonna shit yourself when I pick out a new shirt.” Picking out a shirt and pants to slip on, he quickly starts folding the rest to shove into his duffel bag. “But… try and hold yourself back. We’ve only _just_ met.”

//

Jiho’s eyes snap open at that and he drops the smile instantly, slamming shut the iron gates across his face, eyeing Kyung carefully. Always be aware, always be alert – that’s what he’d been taught. Danger can come from anywhere, and he’d let his guard down just for a few moments – it could have easily come back to bite him on the ass. 

“You might want to get a black one,” he deadpans, sitting down heavily on the bench and leaning back against the washing machine, still spinning around arduously. “It hides blood better.”

If he’s right, his washing has a few more minutes and then he can leave. He feels so strangely off-balance and weird, like he’s drunk but not quite, one step behind everything. He’s been up for thirty-six hours now, which doesn’t help – but mostly he feels it’s Kyung’s fault, and it both fascinates him and frightens him all at once.

//

Kyung physically winces at that, trying to hide his expression by making a show of zipping up his duffelbag and to sling it over his shoulder. It’s one thing to joke about it, but acknowledging that he’s outrightly mortified is another thing altogether. And Kyung’s gotten good at reading people over the years—having to play the role as a pastor’s kid tended to instil that sort of ability in you—but it’s hard, here, when Jiho oscillates between laughing like it’s the first time he’s ever laughed in his life, and trying to exude a murderous aura that Kyung can’t decide the meaning of.

“Are your jokes always this morbid?” Kyung asks, deciding that asking the story of the Blood Soaked Tit-shirt should probably be saved for another time, when Kyung could make better assurance that he won’t end up on a Blood Soaked Tit-shirt. Granted there would be a next time, of course, and Kyung can’t say much for that. “How do you make friends like that?”

Kyung realizes the irony, of course, that he’s continuing this conversation despite evidence that says that he should make for the hills. At least if someone asks in the future, he can say that he has a taste for adventure, and this is not at all because a) he’s letting his libido take charge, and b) he kinda maybe wants to see Jiho laugh like that again.

//

That makes Jiho pause, cocking his head to the side, his eyebrows drawing together. The concept of friends is a strange notion to him and has been for some time, ever since he fell into this job – it doesn’t lend itself to close connections, after all, and they’re all kept deliberately separate from each other. The fact that he’s just moved to this district isn’t even a factor in that; he hadn’t had friends back at his old place, either.

“I haven’t had friends since high school,” he mutters, surprised to find that he hasn’t even thought about it since then, either.

After all, when all you do is kill for money, it quite literally _becomes_ all you do. You don’t have time for anything else. It hadn’t bothered him up until now, but Kyung’s words push some sort of button, trigger a release of feelings he didn’t even know he had, and he frowns. _Fuck_ , he really needs some sleep. He _is_ getting soft.

//

God, if Kyung could bump a checklist off of one of those crime shows, Jiho probably ticks off all the boxes of a potential psychopath. But at the same time, Kyung can’t quite buy into that idea, either. If anything, Jiho sounds confused at the thought of having friends. Must be hard to get someone to like him if his first instinct is to attack someone. As for Kyung… well, he’s always been somewhat of an outlier.

“I can’t imagine why,” he says instead, patting the soft material of Jiho’s sweater in a manner that’s less condescending and more sympathetic. It’s almost absurd to imagine his own life devoid of Jaehyo or Taeil, but it’s slightly more believable that a man can become _this_ grumpy if his social interactions were, apparently, limited to laundromat encounters and whatever slaughterhouse he worked at. “This can be one of those make-over things. I guarantee you friends by the end of my free trial. C’mon, stop that shit—” Kyung gestures at the humming machine “—and ditch your load."

//

“Fine. But you’re not painting my fucking nails,” Jiho mutters, hauling himself off the bench. He finds himself obeying Kyung’s words, although he doesn’t quite know why. Something in Kyung’s tone makes him want to do as he says and, while ordinarily it would be impertinent enough to make Jiho throw him up against the wall, right now it’s fine so he allows it, blaming it on the tiredness.

Woah. A wave of lust rushes through him at the thought of throwing Kyung up against the wall and he stares at Kyung heavily for a moment, wondering what he’d look like gasping his name, reaching for him –

He turns away sharply and yanks open the door of the washing machine, which has thankfully just finished. That’s quite enough of _those_ thoughts, not in a public place like this, not when he’s feeling so fucking weird and _off_. Hauling his dripping clothes into his arms, he turns to Kyung and waits, although he’s not sure what he’s waiting for.

//

“Actually…” Kyung trails off at the mention of painting Jiho’s nails. Somehow, Jiho looked exactly like the kind of guy that had a dodgy emo phase that he never quite grew out of. Despite all the questionable things Kyung’d done in his youth, he’s glad to say that that’s not one of them. “I know a good manicurist.” An ex’s mom’s place, Kyung doesn’t add. But they’re on good enough terms that Kyung pops by with food, sometimes. To clarify, he’s on good terms with the mom, not the girlfriend. Now _that_ was hell in a handbasket.

He’s not sure if Jiho’s waiting for something, or if Kyung’s supposed to _say_ something, because then they’re just staring at each other for an awkward moment and Kyung’s aware that the now-brownish shirt had once been soaked through with blood. But he doesn’t ask—there’s something off about the guy, Kyung can tell that much—merely quirks his eyebrow and holds up a finger as he goes off in search of one of those flimsy laundry bags the laundromat gives out for free.

“I can also guarantee you,” Kyung says, as he holds the laundry plastic bag wide open for Jiho to dump his clothes in, “if you don’t like anything I buy, I’ll personally handwash this stuff.”

//

Jiho raises his eyebrow at that as he slips his sopping clothes into the bag that Kyung’s holding open. “Really? You’ll personally hand wash it?” He takes the bag, accidentally brushing Kyung’s fingers in the process. “What if they’re stained?”

It had sounded more flirtatious in his head, but now the words are out it just sounds morbid, like everything else he says. He shifts, clutching the bag to his chest like a liferaft, somehow wanting to draw this out.

//

“What _if?_ Are you kidding me?” Kyung questions, curling his hand over the strap of his bag so he doesn’t go ahead and do something stupid. Jiho’s looking too much like a terrified woodland creature. Or a terrifying woodland creature, Kyung can’t decide. Whichever one it is, he’s pretty sure that touching Jiho can only end in broken bones. “We both know they’re stained—water’s gonna do jackshit for them.”

He’s starting to look mighty pitiable, so Kyung flashes him the widest, warmest grin he can muster. The type of grin he practices in front of a mirror before he knows he’s going to have a long day socializing. One that he’s good at wearing, that fits him like a second skin. Jerking his chin at the door, Kyung gestures for Jiho to follow along.

It doesn’t take him long to figure out where the nearest coffee shop is. It’s a place he’s visited several times, though he tries not to because it’s usually buzzing with people in the day. To fill up the silence, Kyung asks, “So how do you like your coffee? I’m guessing black, with an extra dash of bitterness?”

//

Jiho finds himself smiling back weakly, glad, at least, that Kyung seems perfectly capable of handling this conversation even if Jiho is lost and fumbling. He honestly doesn’t have many conversations with anyone except the ahjumma who bleaches his hair for him every few weeks, so he’s hardly an ideal conversational partner. He follows Kyung out of the laundromat and down the street, trailing behind him not unlike a lost puppy – although he likes to think if he was a puppy he’d be something cool, like a pitbull or a german shepard. Something tough, something that will rip your arm off if you even _think –_

“...with an extra dash of bitterness?” Kyung finishes, looking at him archly, and Jiho realises he was off daydreaming about dogs instead of paying attention to what he was saying.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Depends on my mood. Sometimes I take some milk… but it’s been a long day. So yes. Black.” He quirks the corners of his lips up in a smile. “And with double the bitterness." 

//

Kyung’s stomach does a ridiculous flip at the sight of Jiho’s smile. He hasn’t felt like this since… since that ex with the manicure parlour, actually, and that had been a shitshow from the first month. It’s a feeling he recognizes to be dangerous, and they’d barely discussed anything beyond laundry processes and coffee and Kyung’s ridiculous fashion sense. Out of habit, he glances down at his feet, and then back up at Jiho again. Shit.

“I bet that’s the Grinch’s to-go coffee, too,” Kyung comments off-handedly, bumping into Jiho as he takes another left, squinting up at the almost similar looking café signages. Mid-way down the street, he comes to a pause at a brightly lit entrance and turns to Jiho. “I think it’s this one. I like my coffee exotic, by the way.” He pushes the door open wide, letting Jiho through before he angles himself towards the seats rather than the counter. “Surprise me! I believe in you!”

//

Jiho finds himself staring up at the chalkboard with the list of coffees on it. There’s standard shit like a flat white, long black, cappucino – all stuff he knows and recognises – but then stuff like mocha, chai – what the hell is all this shit? He just wants a coffee, not a beverage that sounds like it could be an incantation.

As he’s staring up at the board, fidgeting, a man steps up in front of him and orders. He’s about to bristle and grab the stranger by the throat – he is waiting _right fucking here_ – but then he overhears what the man is saying and grins. As soon as the man is done ordering, he steps up to the counter. “I’ll have one of what he’s having,” he tells the girl, nodding towards the stranger, “and a double shot short black, please.”

He pays and heads back to the table with their drinks feeling extremely smug, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, his tiredness seemingly gone.

// 

Kyung spends his entire time waiting writing and rewriting a text that more or less says “possibly on date with killer, possibly on date with cute, stressed guy, sos if i don’t reply in 5h” and ends up sending it in a rush to Jaehyo and Taeil. It’s a precaution, more than anything else, and an indication that this is actually real. That Kyung hasn’t suffered some kind of mathematically-induced nervous breakdown and he’s actually losing his plot. 

But then Jiho’s returning with a smug grin and all of Kyung’s thoughts vanish to be replaced with a brewing excitement that he finds that he’s missed. “You came back?” Kyung asks, leaning forward on his elbows to peer at whatever Jiho’d bought. A quick whiff lets him, professional coffee drinker by way of uni, profile this as a chai latte and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in jest.

“Seriously, _chai?”_ Kyung asks, sticking his straw into the drink and sipping on it with mock-serious contemplation. “Four stars. Out of ten.”

//

“Asshole,” Jiho mutters, downing his double short black in one go. “You said you wanted exotic and some guy stepped up in front of me and ordered that. I didn’t know what half the words meant, so I ran with it.”

He doesn’t even bother to reply to Kyung’s _you came back_ because of course he came back – Kyung is an anomaly, a break in the pattern, something new and fresh and exciting – and also? Really fucking hot. Jiho is enthralled, even at the way Kyung sucks on his straw, his eyelids fanning against his cheek as he blinks, even at the way he furrows his eyebrows, pretending to be serious.

“What the fuck is chai anyway?” he blurts, aware he’s going down a very dangerous path if he continues that train of thought. Perhaps he should be embarrassed that he doesn’t know what a chai is – or perhaps he should be happy he doesn’t hang around with hipsters (not that he knows hipsters drink chai. It could be the Prime Minister’s favourite drink for all he knows).

//

Back at the laundromat, Kyung hadn’t been sure if Jiho was looking or not. Now he’s definitely sure, what with Jiho’s gaze seemingly stuck to Kyung’s mouth around his straw. It’s either that, or Jiho’s so out of it he’s spacing out mid-sentence. Kyung would like to think that he has more sexual appeal than that. He licks his lips—unintentionally or not, he can’t quite tell—catching every drop of the scented taste.

“First you say you don’t have any friends,” Kyung lists off, although not at all in a condescending manner. He sounds, more than anything else, curious. Amused. And his tone reflects the sharp glint in his eye as he props his elbow on the table again. “Now you say you don’t know what a chai latte is? Are you the hipster anti-thesis? Here. Try it.” Kyung tips himself forward even more, sticking his drink out at Jiho with a raised eyebrow in a manner that’s almost challenging. “Tell me what you think." 

//

Is Jiho imagining the teasing, perhaps flirtatious tone that Kyung's words are laced with, or is he genuinely being hit on? He can't tell, and doesn't care, mesmerised as Kyung licks his lips sensually, sending a shiver down Jiho's spine.

"...Tell me what you think," Kyung finishes, proffering his drink at Jiho with a raised eyebrow.

Okay. Yep. Definitely being hit on. He errs for a moment, his fingers clenching involuntarily, before grabbing the bull by the horns and leans forward, taking the straw delicately between his thumb and forefinger to sip on the drink, maintaining eye contact with Kyung the entire time. The strong taste of it hits his tongue and he recoils instantly, gagging as any pretense of being sexy evaporates in front of his eyes.

"What the fuck is that?" he spits, coughing. "It's revolting!"

//

 _Jiho’s lips_ , Kyung thinks, distantly, as his gaze gravitates in that direction. He doesn’t even know what the rest of his thought was going to be, because that’s all there is to it, because Kyung’s higher cognitive functions are slowly shutting down and he briefly considers the pros and cons of asking Jiho where he lives.

In the end, he’s still a logical man, so he fights against that idea. Plus, the whole Jiho spitting up chat latte all over his _freshly laundered clothes_ helps. A lot.

“Dude,” Kyung says, torn between making a face and bursting out in raucous laughter. The latter eventually wins out, and he finds himself clutching the front of his dirty (freshly-laundered) t-shirt, doubling over as he chuckles, inadvertently hitting the table. The disparity between _this_ Jiho and _laundromat_ Jiho is so jarring that Kyung’s getting whiplash.

//

Kyung starts laughing at him, and for a moment he prickles - but then he looks down at himself and sees coffee all over his legs and the table, he sees the funny side, too, and is unable to control himself. Soon he's howling, making an unattractive honking noise that just sets them both off more. Kyung looks so – so happy, nothing but joy radiating from his every pore, shining out through his face – it makes him look even more gorgeous.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, biting his lip to stop from giggling.

//

Kyung’s just about catching his breath when he catches sight of Jiho trying to restrain himself and ends up bursting into a fresh peel of laughter, though this one is markedly more short-lived, because now more than before, he’s curious, because the thought that he wants to know _more_ about the literal stranger sitting in front of him catches him almost off-guard. At the laundromat, it’d been a fleeting sort of curiousness, but now…

“It’s okay to laugh, you know,” Kyung points out. He’s starting to find that a side-effect of hanging out with this guy. Which is completely unexpected, considering the way they’d met. And it’s really not fair that Kyung’s the only one laughing. Then he inches his drink forward, unable to help the shit-eating grin he’s wearing. “Can you try this again? For science, I mean.”

//

“I will pour it on you, Kyung, I swear to god,” Jiho growls, but he leans forward, licks his lips delicately, and sips on the drink again.

It’s still fucking awful but the shock has worn off so he tilts his head to the side, tasting, letting his tongue run over his lips again deliberately because he has noticed Kyung staring and it gives him a secret little thrill to make Kyung’s eyes widen minutely – as good as he is at reading faces he can _see_ the reaction and it’s so visceral.

“It tastes like…” he rummages around in his head for an appropriate metaphor but can’t come up with one – the coffee has revived him but it hasn’t given him back his vocabulary, not yet – so finishes weakly, “...like dirt.” 

// 

Kyung’s immediate reaction to Jiho’s reaction is barely suppressed laughter. He’s not sure if it’s because the situation at hand is genuinely funny, or he’s running on the knowledge of this mutual attraction. It makes him feel a little light-headed, and he’d actually slept properly in the past week.

“Can’t say I know what dirt tastes like,” Kyung says, but plucks his drink from Jiho’s hand again to slurp on it in a way he hopes is more attractive than greedy.

“But I do know I need a new shirt now,” he adds, gesturing at his white shirt now stained with flecks of coffee spit-up. In a way, if this all turns out to a nought, he supposes that he’ll at least have a “so did I tell you about the time I met this guy with a bloody shirt at a laundromat? No– an actual _blood-soaked_ shirt” story to tell. “You’re paying for that, right?”

// 

Jiho rolls his eyes at that and slumps back in his chair. “I have a feeling we’re just going to be buying each other shirts in an endless game of one-upmanship until the end of time. Like, I spill some coffee on you, that’s a new shirt. You squirt some tomato sauce on me, that’s a new shirt.”

Perhaps he’s being presumptuous by implying that this is going to go further than just a coffee date, but he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t realise how much he’s missed human interaction like this – considering the only time he ever really sees people is when he’s driving a knife into their chest, or slitting their throat wide open, this is distinctly different and not unpleasant.

//

Kyung bites his tongue on his _I’ll tell you what you can squirt on me_ because this is, after all, a first meeting, and Jiho seems a little too uptight and edgy and his grandma had once said she liked the sweater Jiho’s currently wearing, so it seemed a little like sacrilege as well.

“You don’t have to go that far to ask me out again,” Kyung says, finishing his drink with loud, unabashed slurping before setting it aside. He’s never been the kind of guy to beat about the bush, and if the attraction is so blatantly a two-way street, then why bother pretending otherwise, right? “You can wear whatever I buy you the next time we meet. Where we’re _not_ gonna be drinking this.” He picks up his near-empty cup and shakes it, the liquid sloshing around inside, then sets it back down again, trying to indicate that he’s done and that they both can leave. It only occurs to him just then that they were, essentially, about to go _shopping_ together, and Kyung isn’t sure which one of them is crazier for agreeing to this whole thing in the first place.

//

Kyung is so blatant and Jiho _loves_ it – there’s no fucking around or playing games, like some guys he’s known; hot one moment and cold the next. There’s none of that here, just straightforwardness, and it’s a relief. He leans forward and places both his palms on the table, smiling and raising an eyebrow. “Alright. Deal. I’ll have to dream up some worse concoction to buy you than a chai dirty iced whatever-the-fuck that thing was.” He nods at Kyung’s empty cup.

He only has one job around every two weeks – they don’t need him more than that; surprisingly not many people have use of a contract killer in this day and age – and the rest of the time he just spends in his apartment, watching stupid videos, or fucking random men he picks up at bars, so it’s not like he’s hurting for free time.

//

“Not actual dirt, please,” Kyung says, but he’s mirroring the smile on Jiho’s face, brow raising equally as challengingly. There’s a fluttery feeling in his gut that has nothing to do with the disgusting latte he’d just consumed. He’s pretty sure Jaehyo’s gonna be on his ass for picking up random strangers at a laundromat, but hey, he believes in fate. Or at least, he does when fate drops tall and hot men at his feet.

“Let’s get going?” Kyung continues. It’s more of an instruction than a question, because he’s pushing his chair back and slipping his duffelbag over himself so the strap crosses over his body. It’s huge, but it’s light enough that he’s not gonna have trouble shopping with it attached to him like a freaky conjoined twin. And it’s not like he can request Jiho to make the fifteen minutes trip back to his dorm to drop it off because despite the quick work they’ve made out of this apparently blooming friendship, it’s weird. That, but also Kyung’s wary of running into Jaehyo and his tendency to ask a million questions.

//

“Fine,” Jiho replies, smiling, getting up and following Kyung out of the coffee shop and down the street, not even bothering to pick up the bag with his wet (and now useless and stained) washing from underneath the table. Let someone else have it. 

They walk in companionable silence for a bit, Jiho using his training to scan the area and make sure he’s not being followed – his line of work generally leaves behind a lot of grieving angry people, so he learnt pretty quickly to watch his back. Once he’s sure they’re in the clear he just watches Kyung, observing the little things – the way he runs his hand through his hair, the way he walks, the way he keeps turning his head to the side to check that Jiho is still following him – which, of course, he is. He doesn’t know if he has a choice anymore, or if his feet are just going to follow Kyung wherever he goes; if so, that’s fine by him.

//

He hasn’t met anyone quite this intense, yet. Sure, there was the date Jaehyo’d tried to set him on with that guy who grunted more than he spoke, but that was more caveman than intense. This though? This sort of attention? Kyung’s not sure if he likes it or if it’s unnerving, and he wishes this were someone else instead—someone he could sling an arm over and break the tension with in an instant, because Kyung’s never been the kind of guy that came with polite smiles and formal bows, not even when the situation required it. It’s worked well for him so far. Mostly. So he figures, why the hell not? 

“So,” Kyung starts, inhaling as he hooks an arm around Jiho’s neck, keeping it loose enough such that Jiho can pull away if he wants to. It’s a feat to accomplish by sheer fact that Jiho’s _taller_ than him. Up close, he can see that Jiho’s skin is a little too pale to be healthy, and he wonders not for the first time if Jiho should be up and about like this, if only to protect the public from a potential lash-out. “The blood. I’m sure there’s a story.” 

//

Jiho freezes as Kyung slings his arm around his neck – when the fuck was he last touched like this? So naturally and simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He closes his eyes briefly, drinking in the touch, plain and stupid as it is.

“I was wondering when you’d ask that,” he groans, looking down at Kyung and slinging his arm around to settle on Kyung’s waist, pressing his lips shut to not exhale at how solid and warm Kyung is underneath his touch. “I’m a vampire hunter,” he deadpans perfectly seriously. 

If vampires _were_ real, he probably would hunt them; as it is they’re not and he has to make do with humans, who carry a lot more baggage than vampires ever will. And at least vampires would be a _challenge_ , probably – his job is honestly too easy most of the time. 

//

They make a good fit, Kyung thinks distantly, because it’s kind of hard to keep anything in focus when Jiho’s face (and therefore Jiho’s _lips_ ) are so godamn close to his own. He’s so caught up with staring that he nearly misses the joke that Jiho makes, and his laughter comes in a little belatedly, with his cheek half-smushed against Jiho’s shoulder.

“So you do know what a joke is,” Kyung points out, making sure to keep the approval evident in his voice as he grins up at Jiho. Too close. _Far_ too close. But Kyung’s not gonna be the first one to back down. At the same time, Kyung recognizes the joke for the evasion that it is, and accepts it. He doesn’t want to push if Jiho doesn’t want to tell. Besides, he figures that no murderer would come all the way to a laundromat to wash the blood of his victims in a machine, right? In _public_ , too. “I was beginning to think you were born naturally grumpy.”

With his arm tucked firmly Jiho’s shoulder, he navigates them both through the sparsely populated streets and into the largest shopping mall in the neighbourhood, now beginning to fill with people. “Right, first stop,” Kyung declares loudly, purposely turning them in the direction of a children’s clothing store.

//

“That’s me,” Jiho replies, expressionless. “I came out of the womb wanting to fight my mother and all the doctors and anyone else who looked at me funny.”

He’s about to say something more – somewhat distracted by how fucking close Kyung is, and how big his eyes are, and how pink his lips look, and how soft his hair is – when he realises where he’s being steered to.

“Right, first stop,” Kyung declares, pointing them towards a kid’s clothing shop.

Jiho baulks, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Kyung tightly around the waist to stop him from taking another step. In doing so, he can feel Kyung strain against him momentarily before realising it’s futile; in addition to having the size advantage over him, Jiho is extremely fit – his body is his weapon and is vital for his survival so like any other weapon he hones it, perfecting everything he can. As a result he’s a _lot_ stronger than he looks. 

“Nah uh,” he murmurs, shaking his head, grinning down at Kyung. “You can’t make me.”

//

Kyung has a small build, so he’s usually on the losing end in more physical situations. But this? Jiho’s grip on him is almost like a vice that forces an involuntary, mostly embarrassing, choked sound out of him. “ _Jiho_ ,” he says, voice strained from trying to sound normal and not at all like he’d literally just had the life squeezed out of him. “ _Okay_ , we won’t go in there. What kind of diet are you on? Solid bricks?”

But really, it’s just another facet of Jiho that has him raising his eyebrow. At first glance, he’s tall and broad, but his face doesn’t at all indicate what kind of build he might have. And okay, that really wasn’t the way Kyung wanted to find out how, but he withdraws his arm almost instinctively, suddenly aware of the fact that, yeah, he could joke about Jiho snapping his neck earlier, but now it’s a possibility. The fact that he barely knows the guy doesn’t help either.

“I think there’s a men’s department somewhere in here,” Kyung says, scanning the different levels of the mall. “Wanna try upstairs?”

//

Jiho just really, really isn’t good with kids – he just doesn’t know what to do around them, so when Kyung turns them away from the kid’s clothing shop he sags with relief.

“Upstairs, yeah,” he agrees, realising he hasn’t eaten anything in god-knows-how-long as he spies a sign for the food court. “And maybe food. I’m starving.” 

They walk slowly, weaving through throngs of people who pay them no mind despite Jiho’s grubbiness and the fact that he’s so tired he looks like death walking. As they go, he decides to test the waters a bit and so – gently, carefully – he slings his arm around Kyung’s waist and traces circles on Kyung’s skin through his t-shirt, gentle sweeping slow circles with his fingers that make him bite his lip at his own brashness.

//

 

“That explains _a lot_ ,” Kyung says, when Jiho points out how hungry he is. And he’s about to say a lot more, but his entire train of thought completely derails when Jiho starts touching him. Not _touching_ him, per se, it’s more of a tentative question than anything else, and it has Kyung raising his brow at Jiho, effectively returning the question. Because he doesn’t know what’s going on, either, and it’s this sort of recklessness that leaves him a little winded, if only for how electrifying it feels.

It doesn’t help that Jiho’s biting his lip like he’s unsure. It’s even _worse_ that he’s biting his lip, because it’s not civil or right to tell Jiho outright that he’s going to shove him against the nearest wall and start kissing him to satisfy his curiousity of exactly how soft Jiho’s lips are. The mall isn’t one of the dorm parties he occasionally finds himself at. But Jiho’s not just any student either.

“Is this one of your moves?” he finds himself asking instead, managing to even sound remotely amused rather than outrightly thrown off. When in doubt, revert to humour. Or an attempt at it, at least 

// 

Kyung raises an eyebrow at him and he nearly keels over and then, in the same breath, wonders how the fuck he got so weak for this stranger and why he wants to hitch up his shirt and splay his hands everywhere he can, right here in the mall, decency be damned.

He doesn’t, though, just lets his fingers drift lower so he’s just a hair’s breadth above the waistband of Kyung’s pants where they sit on his hips, tracing diagonals and angles softly. “No,” he murmurs, deliberately dipping his voice low in an attempt to sound sultry. “I can show you one of my moves, though, if you want.”  
  
This could backfire, very easily, and he’s entirely out of his depth – he’s never flirted like this before, not properly. All his previous sexual experiences have been simple, uncomplicated: go to bar, stand in corner looking moody, wait for some twink to approach him, go home with said twink, have violent sex – rinse and repeat. There’s never been anything like this before: nothing soft, playful, _mischievous._ He loves it, and feels slightly giddy.

// 

“Do your moves involve me getting arrested?” Kyung asks. He’s aware that his voice’s getting a little breathy, a side-effect of the nervous excitement he’s feeling from the path Jiho’s fingers trace down the side of his hips. He feels airy, which is ridiculous, considering that they’re in the middle of the mall. But it’s been a while since he had _this_ , if ever at all. His experiences have largely been chaste, or else with little to no build up, and mostly drunk, followed by the walk of (no) shame. “‘cause I’m an upstanding citizen of society, and my reputation is spotless.”

That isn’t quite true either, but Kyung refuses to take the backseat in this weird push and pull they’ve got going on. It’s a little harder to co-ordinate when they’re walking, but then Kyung’s lips are right by Jiho’s ear, nose brushing against soft, longish hair, and then he’s mumbling, “But, in private…” and then draws back with a wide, shit-eating grin. 

// 

Oh, _fuck,_  the sound of Kyung’s smooth voice in his ear is too damn much and he grits his teeth, feeling himself getting hard right here in public, unable to control it – the feeling of Kyung whispering in his ear, his nose brushing Jiho’s hair – _shit_.

He turns and looks down at Kyung and the mall – with its bustling throngs of people and loud ambient noise – falls away, leaving only the two of them here like this, the lust so clearly written all over Kyung’s face, reflected in his eyes.

“Oh, in private you say?” Jiho whispers, dipping his head lower so their noises are brushing, their lips are _so_ close and he doesn’t even care that they’re in public, he doesn’t give a fuck about anything anymore except – Kyung. “Do tell…”

//

Kyung wonders if the people around them can see the tension thickly engulfing the both of them. And then Jiho comes closer and the rest of the world literally fades out. Kyung gulps, trying to keep the steady expression on his face—they’re so close, it’s only going to take a tip of his chin for them to be kissing, for him to feel the softness of Jiho’s lips against his own. But he knows, too, that the build up is often proportional to whatever comes next, and Jiho’s so tightly strung Kyung wants to keep pushing. Wants to see how far this can go.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” he says, his voice coming out low. He tilts his head back a little, so Jiho can see Kyung shoot him a look. It’s not as much of a question as it is a challenge, and one that has Kyung both jittery with excitement and amusement. Jaehyo’s never going to believe that he’s gonna get laid in his Transformers boxers. He’s never gonna let Jaehyo live this down, too. But for now, he has more pressing issues to concern himself with, namely hooking one finger in the loop of Jiho’s pants to draw him along without quite breaking eye contact. “But first, a shirt.” 

//

Jiho can’t reply at this point – all his words have been stolen from him, taken by Kyung’s low rumble and the way his fingers brush Jiho’s hips, grabbing him by the belt loops and pulling him along. He’s so – so tense and he’s thrumming, vibrating all the way down to his toes, through to his fingertips; he’s never been teased like this before, never been pushed and pushed and he _loves_ it. He probably looks like a drug addict with his pupils blown wide and his lips parted in a gormless expression, but he can’t help it, can’t do anything except stagger along after Kyung, following him helplessly as they head towards a shop.

Never before has he wanted to pin someone up against a wall and fuck them until they were hoarse and raw before – but he realised from the start that Kyung was different. Although he’s never fucked someone he’s met in a laundromat before – met in a laundromat while covered in blood, to boot – there’s a first time for anything and the thought of – of that, of fucking Kyung, has him destitute, blinking.

//

Kyung’s seen someone turned on, someone drunk and turned on, and on one very unfortunate occasion (because it’d ended up with the cops raining on their party), drugged up and turned on, but Jiho’s in another league entirely. It makes Kyung feel even bolder, even in his flip-flops and with his laundry duffel bag occasionally bumping against him, a reminder of how laughably insane this had all started.

The shop’s thankfully large enough that no sales person tries to accost him the moment they step in, because Kyung has no idea how to explain that all he wants at the moment is to get laid and that it’d be great if he could just check that out, along with one Woo Jiho to boot. Instead, he keeps a firm grasp on the front of Jiho’s pants as he tugs him along the aisles of clothes, now merely a secondary thought to him. He plucks something from a rack, and then something else from another rack, barely giving thought as to what he’s taking because the occasional glances back at Jiho tells him that he’s as interested in this as Kyung is. More importantly, though, he can _see_ Jiho’s cock straining through the fabric of his pants.

Then he’s making a beeline for the changing rooms, briefly thanking god for how deserted it all is, but chooses the last stall anyway, pressing the clothes he’d chosen to Jiho’s chest as he backs him in, grinning the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now would probably be a good time to suggest you read the backstory I wrote for Jiho. It's not mandatory in the slightest (and I only wrote it because hyonestly was bothering me to...) but it fleshes out his character some. It can be found [HERE.](http://cassiem312.livejournal.com/6479.html)

The moment Kyung kicks the door shut behind them Jiho rips away the shirts, flinging them to the side carelessly, and slides an arm around Kyung’s waist, pulling him close – so close he can  _ taste _ it, but still he pauses – watching the way Kyung’s eyes widen minutely, the way his lips part, and that’s all the invitation he needs.

He closes the distance between them in a heartbeat and the moment their lips meet he inhales sharply, closing his eyes. Kyung’s lips are as soft as he’d imagined, and when his tongue flicks out to meet Jiho’s he feels his knees go weak, the lust building up in him like a wave. Snaking his other arm around to grab Kyung’s hair, he whirls him around so  _ Kyung _ is the one pressed up against the back wall of the change room, keeping him pinned there as he wedges a thigh between Kyung’s legs, hitches up his shirt to scratch as his belly, kissing a line down his neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters in Kyung’s ear, feeling drunk and addicted on the taste of him already, hooked and needing more. 

//

Oh, Kyung thinks distantly, when Jiho presses him up against the wall. He momentarily loses all cognitive function; it's hard not to when Jiho's lips map out a path down Kyung's neck, causing him to exhale shakily. It's almost too much, the escalation from 0 to 100. Add Jiho's wandering hand to the mix, Jiho's solid  _ thigh _ against Kyung's dick, and he's instantly hard.

It takes Jiho's low  _ jesus christ _ to snap Kyung back to reality enough to start undoing Jiho's pants, sliding his other hand up to tangle in Jiho's hair. He tugs at it sharply, not enough to hurt, but enough to force Jiho to look at him so he can keep their gazes locked as he slides his hand into Jiho's pants to palm the outline of his cock. 

"Not gonna wine and dine me first?" he asks, but even to his ears, he sounds a little strained, gulping as his eyes dart between Jiho's own and Jiho's lips, wondering how they'd feel pressed against other parts of Kyung's body.

//

Jiho puts two fingers underneath Kyung’s chin and tilts his head upwards, smiling predatorily. “I’ll wine and dine you afterwards…” he mutters, closing the distance between them so his next words are whispered against Kyung’s lips, “...but right now I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Kyung makes a noise, low in his throat, and Jiho kisses him hard in response, tracing a line along Kyung’s bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his hand down the front of Kyung’s pants, inside those  _ hideous _ yellow boxers to grasp Kyung’s cock and give it a lazy tug, watching as Kyung’s eyes flutter shut and he moans softly into Jiho’s mouth. He’s been awake for thirty-six hours and he’s about to get a stranger off in a fucking changing room but Jiho has never felt this alive before, not ever, and he doesn’t want it to end, so he tugs on Kyung’s hair a little more, stroking his cock languidly, spreading Kyung’s knees open with his thigh.

//

It's almost embarrassing how easily and how  _ little _ it takes for Kyung to gasp, hands flying out of Jiho's general crotch area to grip onto his strong arms. He wants to focus, to make this a two-way thing that it'd started out as, but it's kind of fucking impossible when Jiho's hand is large and ridiculously hot against his dick. Even his, "Yeah? I'm expensive," comes out breathy, and tapers off into a soft moan. 

He's gotten handjobs before, but there's something about this one in particular that makes his skin crawl—in a good way, in a way that makes him grip harder onto Jiho's hair to drag him down for a biting kiss, for a kiss that says  _ hurry the fuck up _ as he bucks his hips up against the circle of Jiho's palm. Later, when he isn't driven by a lust-filled need, he's going to absolutely laugh at himself for this. But for now, he contents himself with kissing Jiho, free hand sliding down to cup Jiho's ass to squeeze it encouragingly.

//

“I can afford you,” he whispers, breaking momentarily from Kyung’s hungry kiss to gasp into his mouth before Kyung’s hand tightens in his hair and pulls him back down.

They’re rutting against each other now – Kyung fucking himself on Jiho’s hand, Jiho rolling his hips against Kyung’s belly, feeding off each other. He’s loving watching Kyung fall apart in front of him, loving watching the way he pulls back and leans his head against the back of the mirror, loves the way he moans quietly, loves the way his hand yanks strands of Jiho’s hair, urging him to go faster, harder, wanting  _ more _ . It’s building between them – how had he not seen this coming? – and he picks up the pace, twisting his wrist gently, watching as Kyung’s whole body reacts viscerally. 

//

There's a joke about prostitution and Kyung whoring it out somewhere in there, but he can't find it given his limited mental capacity at the moment. Especially since he can feel the hard line of Jiho's cock against his stomach. A pity, he thinks absently, because he'd love to get his hands on  _ that _ . But maybe there's a next time. Pants seem too difficult to tackle when all he can muster is a low, "Fuck, Woo Jiho," as he pushes and pulls at Jiho's ass to give the rhythm right. 

And then Jiho's twisting his wrist in a way that makes Kyung tip his head forward to stifle a moan against the side of Jiho's neck. They're in technically in public, he tries to remind himself, so he sinks teeth in the curve where Jiho's neck and shoulder meet, alternating between bites and heated whispers of encouragement.

//

The sound of Kyung saying his name like that –  _ biting _ him like that – fuck, it’s almost too much, and he continues jerking Kyung off, panting, absorbing the nonsense words that Kyung’s whispering into his skin ( _ come on Jiho, god, fuck, don’t stop, please _ ), breathing them in like they’re oxygen and he’s drowning... Which isn’t far off, given that he’s got tunnel vision and one goal at the moment.

Bizarrely, his training still helps, even in moments like these; he’s so adept at reading people that he can tell that Kyung is close. It’s written all over him, in the way his fingers are tightening in Jiho’s hair, in the way that his bites are getting harder – Jiho’s pretty sure that he’ll have bruises tomorrow, if Kyung isn’t drawing blood already, but that’s alright; the physical reminder is always nice. 

“Jiho…” Kyung groans into his neck, and Jiho  _ knows _ , so he runs his thumb over the tip of Kyung’s cock, feather light –

Kyung pulls at Jiho’s hair so much when he comes that Jiho’s worried he’s going to actually pull some  _ out _ . He opens his mouth to shout but quick as a snake Jiho kisses him, muffling the noises that he struggles to make as he rides through his orgasm, Jiho continuing to stroke him throughout, drawing it out deliberately as Kyung shakes and writhes and bucks against his hand.

//

Kyung’s fingers dig into the curve of Jiho’s ass without thinking of the possibility of bruises, and his louder moans dissipate in the heat between them both. Had he not been on the verge of coming, he’d had noticed how it seems as though Jiho can read his mind, but as it is he’s tipping his head back, drawing Jiho along with him as they kiss hungrily. And then he’s breaking the kiss to gasp, body tensing and straining with his orgasm, chest and neck colouring the way he knows it does when he comes. 

“ … fuck,” he says, a few long moments later, licking his lips as he tries desperately to catch his breath. He’s well aware that Jiho hasn’t orgasmed yet, but he’s too boneless to do anything but cup the back of Jiho’s neck to tug him in for a fierce, affectionate kiss. As affectionate as it comes considering that they’re strangers. 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” is all he says when he pulls away from that kiss, gaze fixed onto Jiho’s eyes. And then he grins, gulping as he flips them both around again, taking Jiho’s hand to stick it in his hair as he sinks down to his knees (a bit of a logistical nightmare as a result of his worn out slippers), and then he’s looking up at Jiho with an eyebrow raised, both challenging and questioning.

//

Jiho’s not a particularly selfish lover – he would have been happy with the possibility of the handjob being returned in the future, honestly. He was just going to go home and jack off to the thought of Kyung’s touch and fall asleep – but then Kyung whirls him around and sinks to his knees, a challenge written all over his face.

He shifts his hips forward minutely, uncontrollably, his brain still catching up to the sight in front of him, of Kyung on his knees for him, Jiho’s hand buried in his hair, and he groans quietly, the syllables hanging in the air, hot and heavy – an invitation.

//

Now that his orgasm’s behind him, he’s no longer in a hurried, lust-filled frenzy. Instead, he smirks at the minute shift of Jiho’s expression into surprise, and then into anticipation. Then he’s mouthing Jiho’s dick through his pants as his hands undo the button so he can tug Jiho’s pants down to his shins. He makes a pleased sound when he frees Jiho’s cock, mostly to provoke Jiho into reacting. But it’s also because Jiho’s  _ big _ and Kyung’d been too fucking in it to notice that, earlier. 

“I need more wining and dining for this,” Kyung murmurs jokingly. He starts kissing his way down Jiho’s length as if just to tease him, making small sounds of approval with each smack of his lips. But before Jiho can comment, Kyung’s sinking his mouth over his cock, taking in as much as he can without dying in this changing room. He hollows his cheeks as his head starts bobbing rapidly, knowing that with all the built up they’ve had, it’s probably mean to keep teasing him.

//

“Remember – what I said – about the one-upmanship?” Jiho pants out. “It’s going to be – ah!”

He can’t complete his sentence because Kyung takes his cock into his mouth and he’s seeing stars, his head spinning.  _ Fuck _ . Fuck. He can’t think of much more than the word fuck and soon he’s repeating it quietly as Kyung sucks away, his tongue swirling around and around deliciously, sending sensations straight to Jiho’s spine.

He wishes he could call this the oddest thing he’s ever done, but sadly, it’s not – in his line of work he’s seen and done a lot of weird shit, even if it was more murder and less blowjobs. Still, it’s up there on the list of ‘weird things to happen to Woo Jiho’ – but he kind of wants this one to go somewhere, more than just disjointed sex in a changeroom – although if that’s all he’ll get, he’ll take it. Especially because the way Kyung is sucking his cock is  _ sinfully _ good; he knows how to use his tongue and lips just the right way to have Jiho thrusting into his mouth a little more forcefully than perhaps is necessary, his hand curling in Kyung’s hair, forcing his head down.

The sexual tension that has been building between them all day reaches boiling point, and he’s on the edge, just about to come when Kyung, pulling back, grazes his teeth down Jiho’s cock gently, adding a whole new layer of sensations – oh,  _ Christ – _

He claps a hand across his mouth and bites his fingers to keep from shouting out as he thrusts into Kyung’s mouth over and over, his orgasm hitting him less like a wave and more like a sledgehammer to the face (and yeah, he does know what that feels like, unfortunately), relentless and overpowering, Kyung’s eyes looking up at him, boring into him as he thrusts and stutters and moans.

//

Kyung has to keep a tight grip on Jiho’s hips so he doesn’t actually end up choking. It’s less of dying in a changing room and more of his parents finding out that he died blowing an almost stranger that’s more mortifying, but he it’s worth it to hear Jiho moaning as though he can’t help himself. At this point, Kyung doesn’t even  _ care _ that they’re in public. He swallows every last drop, wiping his mouth against his shoulder (and briefly mourning the death of his freshly laundered shirt for the second time). 

“Good?” Kyung asks as he gets up to tuck Jiho in, like Jiho had just walked into a restaurant. He presses in close, like he’s afraid that Jiho might slump to the ground if Kyung wasn’t there for support, but really he just wants to feel every one of Jiho’s shaky breaths. It’s a bit too much if he kisses Jiho’s temple, right? But Kyung’s never been the kind of guy to play by the rules. And if he’s had the guy’s dick in his mouth, then everything else doesn’t seem  _ that _ off-limits. He’s about to give in to his urge when the someone hammers at the door lightly and they share a look as a shrill voice calls out, “Sir, are you decent? Can you please step out of the room  _ now?”  _

“Shit,” Kyung mumbles under his breath, adjusting his pants as he tries to suppress his laughter, exchanging a look with Jiho.

//

Jiho's arms – which had been around Kyung, pulling him close; he wonders when touches like that became okay – drop to his pants as he tucks everything in, winking at Kyung as he does the same.

"Are you ready?" he whispers, getting in Kyung's personal space. "Follow my lead."

Kyung picks up his bag, slings it over himself and looks up at Jiho, a mixture of worry and curiosity on his face, and Jiho smiles. Taking a deep breath, he unlocks the door and swings it open. There's a sales assistant standing there, young and pretty and looking confused, and a man who is presumably his manager behind her. They blink at Kyung and Jiho, obviously confused as to why two  _ guys _ are in the change room – but then they catch the rumpled state of their clothes, the way Kyung's hair is messy and his lips are raw (Jiho's sure he looks the same) and understanding crosses their faces in unison.

"Run," he breathes, leaning into Kyung.

And then he's grabbing Kyung's hand and pulling them out of the store and through the mall as fast as his legs can take him, the other hand clutched to his stomach as he wheezes with laughter.

//

Kyung’d assumed that Jiho was going to pull an 007 and smooth talk his way out of this, somehow, but he doesn’t—he grabs Kyung’s hand and runs helter-skelter out of the shop, causing him to nearly trip on one of his flip flops. It’s Jiho’s firm grip on his hand that stops him from collapsing, but he’s completely out of breath when they come to a stop at the opposite end of the mall, so much so that he can’t even muster the ability to laugh. 

Gripping onto the banister, he vaguely registers he’s completely out of shape as he makes several attempts at laughing, and mostly sounds like he’s having an asthma attack. “Fuck,” he finally manages to choke out, several long moments later, “ _ fuck _ .” He’s about to say something along the lines of  _ I really liked those shirts too _ , but then he catches sight of Jiho’s face, bright and ecstatic with laughter. That whole post-orgasmic glow thing had always been a farce because people were usually sweaty and disgusting, but now Kyung’s not so sure. 

It does something to him, that look, because he finds himself straightening up so he can curl a hand in the front of Jiho’s shirt to tug him in, hand flying to the back of Jiho’s neck to kiss him again and again before breaking out into a grin and saying, “ _ Now _ you really owe me a shirt.”

//

"We're in public, Kyung," Jiho whispers – but he'd be lying if he doesn’t love being kissed senseless like this. "How many fucking shirts do we owe each other now?"

Honestly? He'll buy a thousand shirts if it will keep Kyung around, and it's  _ not _ just because he sucks cock like a pro – it's everything. He has honestly and truly never met anyone like him, and he loves it, feels high and floaty, like nothing can stop him. He can’t even remember the last time he felt like this, it was so long ago, but now he’s wondering why he didn’t get out into the real world more often.

//

“You weren’t so concerned about that a minute ago,” Kyung points out, gaze sliding very pointedly towards Jiho’s crotch, then back up to his face again. The post-orgasm vibe is a good look on Jiho—he doesn’t look as strained or as uptight as he was in the laundromat. If he’d wanted to ask Jiho out even as Jiho was threatening to punch him, this makes him all the more likely to do so. He keeps that as a reminder in the back of his mind as he nods towards the shops with a grin. 

“You owe  _ me _ . The coffee, your come…” Kyung lists off from his fingers slowly and deliberately, just to be infuriating. He pulls a face, as if displeased, but then can’t help himself from grinning again. He’s going to blame the handjob for this, but he knows it’s also because of this magnetic attraction between them, an electrifying feeling that comes with every brush of Kyung’s skin against Jiho’s. “And this is  _ freshly _ washed, too. I had a few more uses out of it.”

//

Jiho raises his eyebrows at that. “Hey, now. I didn’t  _ ask _ you to swallow. You took that burden all on yourself.” He winks at Kyung again, plucking at the fabric of his shirt. “Or rather, all  _ in _ yourself. Not that I’m complaining.”

He pulls Kyung in for another kiss, not caring that they’re in public – after all, when you’ve committed a public beheading (or two), a kiss is nothing – before smiling down at him. “Alright. Let’s go get you a shirt.  _ Without _ getting sidetracked.”

He tugs Kyung along, heading towards the escalators – if they can get off this level, at least, there’ll be less of a chance of them being discovered; he can tell they’re not being followed by the people from the shop but it’s good to be careful, just in case. 

//

Oh, Kyung registers, almost distantly as he squeezes Jiho's palm, they’re holding hands. And then he remembers where that hand had been precisely five minutes ago and he has to hold back a ridiculously wide grin, letting Jiho lead him along until he realizes that they’re heading in an entirely wrong direction. Kyung knows the layout of this mall enough to recall at least that. Jiho, on the other hand… Kyung has no idea if he’s even  _ been _ to a mall. 

“That’s the hardware supply store area,” Kyung points out, tugging sharply at Jiho’s hand once they’re off of the escalator. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”  Lest he sounds like he’s trying to determine where Jiho lives, Kyung wants to point out that he’s only curious about Woo Jiho, as he had been all along. Kyung’s usually not too bad at reading people, but with Jiho… he can’t figure it out. A student? A working adult? He looks like the serious, artist type, but then he also had a shirt soaked in blood, so Kyung’s completely thrown off.

//

“Oh,” Jiho says absentmindedly, staring at what is indeed a hardware store stretched out in front of them. “No, I haven’t. I only moved here recently.” 

He lets Kyung drag him around so they’re on the down elevator and chews his lip, wondering if he’s given too much away. The nature of his job has him moving around a lot, which doesn’t help with the friend situation, but it also leaves him in situations like this: lost, very easily. Combined with a piss-poor sense of direction, he’s generally hopeless. 

//

“Really?” Kyung asks. “Huh.” It’s not that he doesn’t believe Jiho, but this new information (Kyung’s been keeping a list) coupled with everything else that’d transpired during the course of the day has Kyung questioning if he’d just given a blowjob to some sort of low-key serial killer. But even as he’s thinking this, he knows he doesn’t believe it. Can’t believe it. Refuses to believe it. 

“Guess you’ll need someone to show you around the area. Take you out to the good restaurants,” Kyung muses, slowing down his pace so their arms occasionally brush. He wonders if it’s too much to ask Jiho back to his dorm for dinner, but then he’d also assumed that Jiho was skittish and quick to punch when they’d just gotten off in a changing room. Maybe Kyung’s just a shit judge of character. “I wonder who…?"

//

“I do recall a certain someone talking about wining and dining earlier,” Jiho hums as they walk, tilting his head to look down at Kyung playfully. “And I  _ do _ recall that certain someone saying they were expensive. Who could that be?” 

Honestly, it’s like he’s a new person – Kyung has brought him out of his shell, bringing him back to the days before he had this fucking soul-sucking job, back when he remembered what laughter felt like.

He spies an appropriate clothing store and steers them in, scanning everywhere he can see for any signs of danger, for anything off –  _ clear _ – and heads to a rack of t-shirts, flicking through them and then looking back at Kyung and shaking his head. “No. Not  _ garish _ enough.”

//

Kyung gasps at Jiho's  _ not garish enough _ , as if scandalized, pressing a hand to his chest. He brandishes the lurid green shirt he's holding, with the most obnoxious pattern he'd ever laid eyes on. The kind of thing where his artist friends would claim as  _ style _ or  _ flair _ and normal, regular people would call puke pattern. 

"I never thought I'd ever hear those words be directed at  _ me," _ Kyung says, insisting that Jiho takes it anyway. It could be that he's misled with Jiho's simpler style; his current outfit could be his laundry day outfit, as was Kyung's ensemble of yellow clothing. "This is the most garish I'll accept on a date. Anything else and I'm pretending I don't know you."

//

Jiho eyes the shirt warily and takes it gingerly between thumb and forefinger, like it might bite him. “Jesus Christ, I need sunglasses to just  _ look _ at this thing. Is this really what you’re buying for me?” Kyung nods and he grimaces, holding up against himself. “I thought you said you were  _ expensive _ . We won’t get let into any nice restaurants if I’m wearing this.”

He tucks the shirt under his arm and peruses the aisles, feeling rather than seeing Kyung follow him. It’s stupid of him, but he likes that there’s a ‘we’. It gives him something to look forward to – even  _ if _ he has to wear that abomination of a shirt. He browses for a few more minutes, flipping through the racks, throwing aside shirts that are ugly but not  _ quite _ ugly enough – until he spots it, like a beacon in front of his eyes: the ultimate holy grail of ugly shirts, somehow even  _ worse _ than the one he has tucked under his arm. He whirls and holds it out in front of him like a trophy, grinning as Kyung’s face falls.

//

“Jesus christ,” Kyung exhales. Not only because of how terrible looking the shirt is, but also with the knowledge that Kyung is aware that he’d still fuck Jiho even if he’s wearing that abomination. And that’s what it is. “It’s an abomination. Tell me, do you hate yourself?” 

Even as he says that, Kyung’s plucking the shirt from Jiho’s hand to examine it more closely. It’s a photoshopped picture of a hairy-chested man wearing the most offensive granny-type vest Kyung’d ever laid his eyes on. In short, it’s the kind of shirt you wear if you want to give everyone a bad impression. Or if you were this store’s target audience, apparently. 

Still, Kyung presses the shirt to the front of Jiho’s chest, standing at an arm’s length himself so he can pretend to envision how Jiho looks with the shirt on. “I think you’re missing something…”

//

"Missing something?" he gasps, holding the shirt up to his body and doing a slow twirl. "What the hell could be missing from this ensemble? Do you want to make me the ugliest man in the world?"

He would still wear this monstrosity if it made Kyung look at him the way he is – head tilted to the side, curious, his eyes roaming over Jiho's body. It’s electrifying in a way that’s not just because all of this is new to him, it goes beyond that somehow, and he represses a shiver.

//

"I'm good at picking, but I'm not  _ god _ ," Kyung says, grinning as he crosses his arms. Jiho's hot—no amount of ugly articles of clothing can change that. Might emphasise it, even, but Kyung's not gonna tell him that; he seems smug enough as it is. 

"Come," he says, taking Jiho's hand to stop him from twirling to lead him towards the shoe section. The store's classy enough that they won't sell the sort of tacky footwear Kyung really wants, but artsy enough that there's  _ seriously _ some bizarre designs up on the rack. The first pair of shoes Kyung pulls down exemplifies exactly that—red, leather boots, carved in with some sort of baroque design that's supposed to look good, but just comes off incredibly try-hard. And to top it all off, a pair of wings stuck onto the shins of each shoe.

//

"A whole outfit, huh?" Jiho murmurs, staring at the boots warily. "Fuck, I already have the body of a Greek god, now you want me to wear his shoes?" He looks up at Kyung, winking flirtatiously, even if it is a terrible line.

He's pretty sure Hermes wore sandals, not – whatever the fuck these things are. But, surprisingly, playing dress-up is fun – his usual style is black, black and more black, perhaps with some red mixed in to spice it up, so this is definitely a change of pace. He picks the boots up and tucks them underneath his arm, along with the two shirts. "You know no one will want to come near me if I'm wearing all this, right? I'll be a social pariah. More than I already am, which I didn't think was possible."

//

It's almost amusing to watch how compliant Jiho is, in comparison to the way he'd basically threatened Kyung just over an hour ago. Yet it makes Kyung question Jiho too—why? What kind of person claims he doesn't have friends? What kind of person comes into a laundromat with  _ that _ kind of dirty laundry? What kind of person gives a handjob to a virtual stranger in a changing room? 

Well, okay, Kyung's that last person. But the point still remains. The change is startling, a complete 180 degrees. Not that Kyung's complaining, of course. 

"Maybe that's the whole point," he answers Jiho's not quite concern, grinning smugly, bordering on salacious. He slides in closer to Jiho on the pretense of helping him carry his shirts, but then slides his hand in the back pocket of Jiho's jeans. He's bold about it, too, no hesitance, only blatant approval, as he squeezes Jiho's ass to start them walking towards the cashier.

//

Jiho coughs and jumps forward as Kyung squeezes his ass, shooting a surprised look over his shoulder at the shorter man. Not that he  _ should _ be surprised, really, since they’d engaged in very public sex not very long ago… But Kyung is full of surprises. 

He’s aware he’s going very, very red – his ears in particular turn a creative shade of crimson – as he dumps the item on the counter and mumbles hello to the cashier, a girl around their age. She raises an eyebrow at the two of them but starts ringing up their items anyway, her face expressionless as she sorts through the two fugly shirts and the equally as ugly pair of boots; Jiho kind of admires her stoicism, considering he can’t look at the two shirts together without frowning in disgust. 

“That’ll be 131,000 won,” she deadpans, looking at them expectantly. 

//

Kyung outrightly blanches when she says the price aloud. So looking at the shirt instead of the price had been a mistake, and Kyung's tempted to question the cashier on whether they were trying to shit on their customers twice over, but she looks like she can't give two shits if he buys this or not; she looks especially unimpressed. 

"Uh," Kyung says, then fishes around in his duffel bag for his wallet, trying to quietly estimate just how much money he had after the laundromat. A couple of crumpled bills, if he's lucky, but certainly not enough to cover the joke of a shirt. He has his debit card, but he's going to have to clock in more hours at work to cover this. 

In the midst of his raging, internal conflict, he glances up to catch Jiho's eye, even though he's obviously checking the cashier out, and decides it's worth it. 

"Here," he says, handing the card to the cashier, proud that he did not stutter in the slightest.

//

Jiho’s just about to offer to pay – the one good thing about his job is the absurd amount of money it nets him, and considering he doesn’t spend it on anything he has enough savings to buy a ferrari, or six – when Kyung produces a card from his bag and hands it over triumphantly. Without missing a beat, the cashier takes it and rings it through, bagging the shirts and shoes with such an air of boredom that Jiho wonders if she’s about to keel over – he’s never seen a human being so disinterested in anything, ever. 

“Thanks,” he mutters to her, his voice flat and low, seeing if he can one-up her in indifference; she doesn’t even bat an eyelid and he shrugs as they turn and head out of the store, the bag clutched in his hand.

“How do you know I’m not going to just burn these when I get home?” he asks, turning to Kyung; he’s surprised to see a funny sort of expression on Kyung’s face – is that  _ jealousy? _

//

Kyung can't tell if he's misreading, or if Jiho's trying to act standoffish in front of the cashier in a bid to be cool. Okay, she's pretty, but surely it's bad form to be openly checking someone else out when the person who'd blown you was  _ right there _ . Kyung has eyes too, and he's managed to keep himself in check. 

This is ridiculous, he tells himself, because they've known each other for all of two hours. Kyung would like to think that he's only affected because he'd essentially paid more for this non-date than his actual dates in the past year alone. But really, it's because he's a little too attached to the virtual stranger who'd grinned so happily after he slipped Kyung's old sweater on. 

"No shirt, no date," Kyung declares loudly, brushing his thoughts away. Not the time nor the place. "Don't think I won't just ditch you at the restaurant."

//

"Aww," Jiho pouts, linking his arm through Kyung's. "Fine. Which would you rather I wear? Which is most likely to make the general public vomit upon sighting me?"

He's well-trained enough to notice the curtain slamming shut across Kyung's face, and wonders what on earth he's done to merit such a change in behaviour - it's subtle, but it's there, in the way Kyung stiffens slightly when Jiho touches him, affronted somehow. He really has no idea, and wracks his brain as they walk. Did he not react as well to the boots as Kyung had hoped?

//

"I'll work hard to think of a way to combine both," Kyung says with a grin. Really, Kyung has nothing to feel envy for—he's got another date, hasn't he? Another date to check out exactly who Tall, Dark, and Alarmingly Strong is. And if there's one thing Kyung is assured of himself, it's that he's a damn good date, even on a frugal budget and with only three recipes in his repertoire. Somehow, he gets the feeling that Jiho isn't very choosy anyway. 

"Anyway, if we get kicked out," Kyung adds, with renewed confidence, "I'm a decent cook." And by that he means that he can make stuff without burning them, a side effect of living on the campus dorm and having a roommate who had the tendency to burn things, even while boiling potatoes. "Still interested?"

//

"You tell me," Jiho purrs, grasping Kyung's chin and pulling him in for a kiss, wanting to feel Kyung's lips again, smiling as Kyung kisses him back.

He's pretty sure Kyung is lying about being a good cook – what university student is? – but he doesn't care. He'd eat slop if Kyung served it to him, so long as he smiled while doing it. He wonders how on earth he got so besotted with this almost-stranger in the course of a couple of hours, and wonders if it’s just because he’s been deprived of meaningful contact like this for years. But no, he knows that it goes beyond that, knows that there’s a spark of  _ something _ between the that he can’t put his finger on.

//

“Dude,” Kyung says, but that’s all he manages to get out before he’s going back for another. And then another. And maybe just one more. “I think the kissing’s supposed to come before the handjob?” He punctuates his sentence with a shrug, as he looks over Jiho fondly. There’s a possibility that he just blew 130,000 won on a guy he’d never see again, and Jaehyo’s going to rag on him for that, but at the end of the day Kyung finds that he can’t really care.

“And,” Kyung pauses to rummage around in his bag for a pen of some sort, and comes up with a worn-out looking marker, “gimme your hand.” He takes Jiho’s palm before he can offer it, though, and scribbles his number across the flat plane of Jiho’s hand. “So you don’t forget. Or I’ll have to write it somewhere more obvious.”

//

Jiho looks down at his palm and memorises the numbers in one glance, before looking back up at Kyung, who looks  _ hopeful _ . "Is this the part where I say I'll call you?" 

When people say that, they don't mean it (or so the movies tell him) – but he honestly and genuinely does. Once he gets some sleep, that is; the coffee revived him for a short period of time, but the tiredness is sinking into his bones, making his vision go sort of funny; he knows if he spends more than an hour on his feet he'll just end up passing out on the floor where he stands, like a sleep-deprived Sim. 

"'cause I will, you know," he murmurs, kissing Kyung again, addicted to the feel of his lips. "Promise."

//

It’s funny—Kyung hasn’t felt this way in a long while. It’s different when it’s someone you’ve known with for a while, where you both slowly inch towards a  _ together _ that’s more of a surety than not. This though? This is intoxicating, this feels like he’s standing on the precipice of an adventure, one in which the road is unclear. And Kyung wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You know what happens to promise breakers,” Kyung mumbles against Jiho’s lips, hand coming to a rest over the back of his neck. This feels like a last time, even if Jiho says otherwise, and even if Kyung knows, logically, that it isn’t. But it feels like the moment he steps away, it’ll become a dream he can’t even remember if he’s had or not. “Besides, it’s the 21st century. You can afford to text. Or is that a skill you’re lacking?”

//

Jiho doesn't want to leave, not really, even though he needs to. He's had the weirdest morning he's had in a long time, but it's been a good one, and he finds it not wanting to end. Human interaction – with a gorgeous man who has lips like sin, to boot – has been something he's missed without knowing.

"They get punished?" he whispers, his lips brushing Kyung's. "And yes, I can text. Expect many typos, though. I don't text many people these days."

He stands like that for a moment, his arms linked around Kyung's neck, lips just brushing the shorter man's, unwilling to move, knowing that he has to but still not finding the will to.

"Alright," Jiho sighs, reluctantly untangling his arms. "I'll be off, then."

//

"Are you going to cry?" Kyung teases, if only to make this easier. They've literally just  _ met _ each other—to Kyung's mostly logical brain, this doesn't make sense. But he guesses it's not the brain with which you use to feel things like these.

He flashes Jiho the biggest smile he can muster, waving jauntily at him as he whirls around and walks away, loudly declaring, "Call me!" And then he's off, resisting the urge to look back. He should've gotten a picture, or something, least there would be no second time. But that'll be pretty lame, and he wanted Jiho's impression of him to be good. Amazing, even.

He makes it all the way out of the mall before he let's out a sigh, rubbing the side of his face as he tries to suss out where the bus-stop was. By the time he gets back to his room, it's well into the evening, and he finds Jaehyo slumped over his laptop in his bed, half-asleep.  _ Better not tell him first _ , Kyung decides as he drops his bag on the ground to free his hands to check phone.

//

_ five days later _

He'd meant to text Kyung sooner, honestly he had. But he'd slept for two days, and when he'd woken up, he'd had a barrage of missed calls and angry messages from the Organisation demanding to know where he was. Then he'd been sent to a job in Japan, and when he'd got home from  _ that _ he had drunk himself into a stupor and passed out. 

It's Saturday night when he wakes, and he immediately reaches for his phone, typing a message clunkily. He'd saved Kyung's number on the way home that day, but he still had it memorised, floating around in his head.

He drafts and erases what seems like thousands of messages ( _ 'hey, how have you been?' _ – too casual;  _ 'wassup?' _ – too asshole-ish;  _ 'come out with me tonight _ ' – too forward) before settling on one that's not too offensive and pressing send, throwing his phone across the room so he won't have to see if the message is read or not.

One man shouldn't be giving him butterflies in his stomach like this, but he is, and Jiho has no idea what to do about it – only that he wants to see Kyung again,  _ feel _ Kyung again.

//

On the first day, Jaehyo tells him he looks like he’s going to shit himself every time he checks his phone. Kyung laughs it off, but he can’t help the doubt that creeps in. It’s the last time, he tells himself, it’s the  _ only _ time. But then it could also be that he’s asleep or eating or working or whatever the hell it is that people do in their daily lives, too. Still, it’s hard not to obsessively check his phone, hard not to second-guess himself until Jaehyo eventually confiscates his mobile on day two.

“I love and care for you as a friend,” Jaehyo points out as he shoves Kyung’s phone into his pocket.

“You ate the last of my bulgogi and said 505 did it,” Kyung says in a monotone, twirling his pen. The math assignment he had sprawled across his bed suddenly looked like the least appealing thing on earth, and he’d actually been the type to enjoy studying.

“Well, this time I love and care for you as a friend,” Jaehyo corrects. “Besides, you just met him, right?”

That doesn’t help in the slightest; if anything, it worsens things. For the fact that they’d just met, and Kyung feels more hung up over him than Kyung’s exes, though perhaps not the last one. Maybe it’s because his feelings are new, raw, but it still doesn’t stop him from making a sound when he checks his phone on his way back from class, causing his friend to raise her eyebrow questioningly. 

“You didn’t tell me you were dating someone new,” she says, trying to peer over his shoulder at the  _ what are you up to tonight? _ from an unknown number. It’s kind of anticlimactic—he doesn’t even know if this is Jiho—and yet it’s the most exciting thing to have happened to him all day.

“Not,” Kyung tells her, thumbs already at the ready to reply. He feels like he’s back in middle school again, texting the person of his affections for the first godamn time, and it’s ridiculous. “Isn’t your room that way?”

“Ha,” she snorts, patting him on the shoulder, “good luck with that attitude, Park Kyung.” 

He waits until he’s back in his dorm sans his coat and shoes and in his bed before he replies, writing and deleting several times before he shoots off a, “Who’s this?”

//

Jiho hears his phone buzz, from the other side of the room and hauls himself off the bed to grab it, dreading the reply.

_ 'Who's this?' _ it reads, and he laughs, the noise echoing around his empty apartment.

_ I'll give you a hint: I've got a really ugly shirt in my possession that's just itching to be worn _ , he shoots back, heading over to sit on the lounge, chewing at his lip as he waits for a reply.

//

"Dad?" Kyung texts back, embarrassingly rapidly. There are probably rules for this, not to mention the fact that Jiho had waited a whole  _ five days _ to contact him. But as it is he can't be half-assed to stick to them, not when he knows what he wants and what he's after.

He thanks god a little that his dorm room's empty, so Jaehyo can't witness him grinning like he'd just won the lottery because he'd never hear the end of  _ that _ . Jaehyo has his best interests in mind, yeah, but right now what Kyung wants isn't his best interests—it's the stranger he'd met at the laundromat, for whom he has so many fucking questions for, starting with, "Where the hell have you been?"

//

_ Where I've been… If I told you, I'd have to kill you, sadly, _ he texts back, grinning into his empty apartment.

He swings his legs off the sofa and heads to the shower, realising he hasn't shaved in a few days and has the beginnings of a beard – or whatever excuse for a beard he can grow, which is a scraggly mess at the best of times – and probably reeks of cigarette smoke and alcohol. If he has the slightest chance of even seeing Kyung again, let alone getting laid by him, he needs to clear that problem up, fast. 

He sets his phone on the counter of the sink as he showers, watching it out of the corner of his eye for the screen to light up, fully prepared to jump out of the shower to reply if it does.

//

Kyung’s momentarily distracted by Jaehyo returning home with approximately twenty rolls of posters in plastic tubes, practically spilling into their doorway and onto the ground. And then he’s distracted with Jaehyo regaling him with stories of trying to print all of those posters, but mid-way through a story, Jaehyo pauses to raise his eyebrow questioningly. 

“He texted, didn’t he?” he asks. It’s less of a question and more  _ look how fucking  _ gone _ you are, holy shit _ . But he’s not wrong, so Kyung shrugs and jabs him in the thigh with a plastic tube before returning to his bed. He’s aware of Jaehyo staring curiously at him as he battles his things into submission, but deigns to say nothing as he texts back, “You think that sounds mysterious, but it just sounds like I need to call the cops.” 

If earlier he’d been exhausted, he’s completely awake now, and it’s this sudden burst of energy that has him sending a, “It’s midnight but we’re both up, I think that calls for a drink,” that he only half-regrets.

//

Kyung replies as he's getting out of the shower, tying a towel around his waist, and he nearly drops his phone in his haste to reply. "Sounds fair. Where? Do I really have to wear that shirt?"

When he’d got home he’d had enough sense to hang both shirts up in his wardrobe before passing out, and they’re still hanging there, breaking up the monotony of the endless black shirts he usually wears. Even if they are hideous, the look on Kyung’s face when he actually turns up wearing it is something Jiho wants to see.

He leans over the sink and starts shaving hurriedly, not caring if he nicks himself, itching to leave the apartment and do something normal, having forgotten what  _ normal _ was after slaughtering three people in rapid succession.

//

In lieu of a reply, Kyung snags one of Jaehyo’s plastic tubes with Jaehyo’s name and dorm address pasted on the front with a square bit of paper and takes a picture of that, thumb covering Jaehyo’s name.

“What the hell are you doing?” said person asks from his bed, where he’s still wrestling with those godamn tubes. Kyung would be more inclined to watch if he doesn’t have more pressing things to do. “And please don’t say booty call. It’s  _ midnight _ .” 

“It’s… I was raised not to lie, so,” Kyung answers, shrugging dismissively as he blasts that picture off in a text to Jiho with the text  _ bring beer and your ass clad in that shirt I paid for _ and then quickly appends that with  _ and don’t think I’ve forgotten those boots _ . “Do we have any more of that buldak ramyun left in the kitchen?”

//

Jiho grins down at his phone as he's brushing his teeth. "See you soon," he replies with toothpaste-covered fingers, spitting into the sink and grinning into the mirror at himself, brushing his hair over his forehead, frowning at his roots. He needs to get it bleached again soon. But that's a problem for another time – right now he needs to get ready, reluctant as he is to put on those hideous clothes, it's worth it for Kyung.

Not forty-five minutes later he's standing outside Kyung's dorm, a six-pack of beer nestled under his arm, the hideous chest-hair shirt on, paired with a pair of black jeans and the boots, which squeak annoyingly any time he takes a step, the leather yet to be broken in.

He knocks on the door, a sharp two taps that ricochet down the hallway, louder than he intended. It's past midnight at this point, and the dorm is surprisingly quiet – he'd expected a building full of uni students to be louder on a Saturday night.

//

“Oh my god, it’s you,” Jaehyo says, the second he opens the door. Kyung’s making some sort of fucked up buldak ramen carbonara that he “once saw on the internet” and “looked really fucking good” and “would totally get me laid”. Jaehyo’s not buying it, but it’s past midnight and he can’t be bothered to tell Kyung that spicy food isn’t the way to go if you wanted to fuck. And where was he going to do it, anyway? Jaehyo sure as hell wasn’t moving. “Holy shit. It’s  _ you _ . Uh, come in? Kyung’s downstairs in the communal kitchen, probably trying not to poison you. I hope you have a strong stomach.” 

He’d been a little too out of it to properly check the guy out—he  _ still _ hasn’t gotten a name—but once he gets the chance to, he can see why Kyung’s attracted to him. He’s a little too much of Kyung’s type for this to end well.

//

Jiho's demeanour changes instantly, and his smile falls. This – this is a stranger, it's not Kyung, and he's suspicious. He steps into the apartment warily, staring at this man with wide eyes. He's pretty in a doe-eyed sort of way, and he's looking at Jiho weirdly, like he's got two heads – although he's probably just mirroring the expression that Jiho is making.

Proprietary tells him that this is where he introduces himself, so he nods at the man courteously. "I'm Jiho… Nice to meet you." Although he sounds unsure about it. 

He doesn't know if this man is a threat or not, and won't show him his back until he does. It's just ingrained in him at this point, after so many years of doing this job; he can't help it. 

//

Jaehyo knows he isn't the man that this guy had travelled at night to see, but the stiff demeanour was kind of uncalled for. He's going to have Words with Kyung and spend the rest of the week hunting down this guy's SNS account of only so he and Taeil can perform a deep background check. 

Besides,  _ nice to meet you? _ Who actually says that unless they had some unresolved issues?

"Kyung's only gonna be gone for a while… unless he sets the stove on fire. Again. Feel free to sit down?" Jaehyo gestures around, and then realizes their room is devoid of any sort of horizontal spaces that aren't already occupied with something else: there are clothes on the desk chairs and books piled up on the footstool and poster tubes sprawled across Jaehyo's bed. The only free space left is Kyung's bed, so Jaehyo gestures in that direction instead. "I'm sure he won't mind."

//

Still walking as if he's treading on eggshells, Jiho takes a seat on Kyung's bed, his eyes flicking all around the room, taking everything in. There's fucking posters everywhere, and he's not really sure what that's about – opens his mouth to ask, but reconsiders, considering the way the man is staring at him coldly.

"What's your name?" Jiho asks, taking him in in one glance – tall but skinny, pale from being inside too much, and not a threat to Jiho in the slightest. He still feels relieved he'd tucked his knife into his boot before he'd left, lest he comes to blows with anyone. Not that he really  _ needs _ a knife to kill anyone, but he just prefers it – it's quicker and quieter, most times.

//

Jaehyo’s gotten along relatively well with everyone else that Kyung’d ever brought back (home, sort of), but with this one? This one just seems a little off. Jaehyo practically studies people for his major, albeit through his camera lenses, and he thinks he can tell when someone is giving him a vibe that’s not quite right.

Nonetheless, he can afford to be civil, especially since Kyung likes him so much, so he answers with his name and a smile and gestures over the mess with an awkward, “Don’t mind all this shit. We’re both just really lazy. And not in the room a lot.” He’s saved from elaborating with Kyung’s grand entrance, holding a tray with two steaming hot bowls of  _ whatever _ he’d just concocted in the kitchen and a wide grin on his face.

“I’m totally getting laid with this,” he announces loudly, probably not expecting to see Jiho in the room. And then he does, and his expression morphs quickly from a mortified one, to an amused one.

//

Jiho laughs at that, his stupid seal-bark laughter filling the room. He'd seen the flash of embarrassment cross Kyung's face and it had been enough to set him off; the fact that Kyung's not wrong is all the more hilarious.

He gets off the bed and approaches Kyung cautiously, stepping over piles of clothes on the floor, unsure of the protocol when there's a third person in the room. He settles for a smile and a wink and hopes that's subtle enough.

"What the fuck is this?" he asks teasingly, hoping Jaehyo isn't going to get the wrong end of the stick, aware of him watching the both of them. "I wore the shirt you requested and this is what I get?" He cocks his head and sniffs the bowls, considering. "It doesn't smell  _ bad _ , though."

//

“It doesn’t smell bad?” Kyung echoes doubtfully, raising his eyebrows. “I’m practically a culinary genius. Tell him, Jaehyo.” 

“You gave us all food poisoning that one ti—”

“Okay, your opinion is not necessary,” Kyung quickly interrupts, before this can devolve into a session of Kyung’s date hitting it off with Jaehyo by shitting on him. It’s not the first time, obviously, because when you’ve been friends a long time, you’ve got dirt on each other like no other. Instead, he grins up at Jiho, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek like he’d wanted to the moment he’d set eyes on him. Kyung was right; even in that horrendous t-shirt he’s still unbelievably hot, and it gives Kyung double the reason to strip him out of it. He doesn’t know how to articulate these thoughts, though, given the fact that Jaehyo’s standing right there. And that Jiho had taken five whole days to get back to him, which could mean anything and nothing at the same time. “Hi. You hold this and I’m gonna grab one of those picnic mats. Don’t talk to Jaehyo. Don’t even  _ look _ at him.”

//

Jiho blushes as Kyung stands on his toes and kisses him on his cheek – he has such a strong urge to turn his head and catch Kyung on the lips, just to be irritating, but he doesn't and takes the kiss for what it is, feeling his ears go red. And then Kyung's shoving the tray into his hands and disappearing into another room again, with a warning echoing in his ears about Jaehyo.

Completely ignoring said warning, Jiho turns to Jaehyo and raises an eyebrow. "Food poisoning, huh? I kinda wanna know more."

He wants to throw the fucking tray away, go and find Kyung, pin him up against a wall and fuck him senseless; he looks delectable even dressed in nothing but his casual, lounging-around-the-dorm clothes, hair unbrushed and messy. As it is, though, he has to make polite conversation with Jaehyo, who he has decided is not a threat. Which, in the end, is good for him, probably, considering he he never gets any proper human interaction anyway. Call it character building.

//

Jaehyo’s eyes may be fucked from the hours he’d spent today peering at a computer screen, making minute adjustments that no one can tell except for him, but he’s sure that Jiho’s  _ blushing _ . His ears are  _ red _ . And that instantly warms him to Jaehyo, despite the horrendous t-shirt that he has no doubt is a byproduct of Park Kyung’s inability to ever do things normally.

“So we just moved into the dorm,” Jaehyo says, purposely loud to make sure that Kyung can hear him from the closet he’s currently in. “And Kyung wanted to cook us something good, right? To  _ celebrate _ .”

“Ahn Jaehyo, you’re dead!” Kyung hollers, his voice muffled.

“But,” Jaehyo soldiers on, because it’s amusing, and because he’s been averse to Kyung’s food since, “something tasted off about it, you know? We still ate it anyway, Taeil and I, to be polite. Big mistake. The next day we had to get well acquainted with the toilet on this floor because we spent so much time running to it.”

Kyung emerges just then with a checkered pink mat in his arms, a remainder of those days when it'd been warm and they'd spend time procrastinating in the university's park. 

"Don't listen to him," he tells Jiho, pointing a finger in Jaehyo's direction. "He's full of shit."

"Not after that incident I'm not."

//

Jiho grins widely at that, nodding at Jaehyo respectfully. “Thanks for that anecdote. Now I know not to trust this.” He juts his chin down at the bowls on the tray in his hands, watching amusedly as Kyung scurries back and forth, doing whatever he appears to be doing.

He hadn’t expected to be at Kyung’s dorm, of all places, and he eyes the two beds and the mat that Kyung’s got in his arms, wondering what on earth is going on. Kyung obviously wants to get some, and that’s fine – but Jiho’s not about to fuck him in front of his roommate. The bounds of propriety only stretch so far, after all, and that’s a line he doesn’t want to cross. He knows from previous experience that once you’ve wounded someone (be it a perceived insult or a genuine one), it’s very hard to get back into their good books – admittedly fucking someone while their roommate lays in the next bed is just a  _ little _ different to killing their sister, but the point still stands. He bites his lip as he watches Kyung, admiring his ass as he bends over.

//

“I don’t wanna watch this,” Jaehyo complains loudly, watching Jiho watch Kyung bend over. Kyung snorts as he picks up some relatively clean plastic utensils from his desk and heads back for the door, holding it open for Jiho.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to let your voyeuristic ass watch,” Kyung says quickly, right before he closes the door, so all he gets to hear is Jaehyo’s undignified, indignant squawking before the door slams shut and he’s left alone with Jiho again, feeling strangely nervous. This is weird—not because of the situation at hand; it’s a little bit too late to find it weird—but because he’s anxious, and he never is, on dates. He’s a people person, yet he recognizes that Jiho isn’t just anyone. “We’re heading up to the roof. Please tell me you’re not scared of heights.”

//

Ah, so  _ that's _ the way Kyung is planning to get around the roommate situation. Inventive. 

"No, not scared of heights," he replies, following Kyung as they walk down the hall of the dorm. "Isn't it a little cold for that, though?"

He'd noticed a chill in the air as he was walking from the bus stop to Kyung's apartment - he hadn't bothered to bring a jacket because he thought he'd be inside the whole time. Oh well, he supposes – more excuses to snuggle up to Kyung and get his hands on him.

"Jaehyo seems nice," he starts, to break the somewhat awkward tension between them. "How long have you guys been living together?"

//

“That’s why I dug this out,” Kyung says, nodding at the thick duvets he’d unearthed along with the picnic mat. He can barely see three steps ahead of him with how big they are, but he figures a first date should be romantic. Candles, maybe, if it wasn’t so damn cold out. 

“And,” he adds, bumping against Jiho just a little, making sure not to accidentally spill the product of his blood, sweat, and tears, “we can always huddle for warmth.” This isn’t really his first time up on the roof; there were times when he and Jaehyo had reached their boiling point in school work and had to destress. Not in the same way he’s thinking of doing with Jiho, but just with cans of beer and a lot of childhood anecdotes between them. 

“When you say lived together, do you mean this dorm? ‘cause I’ve known him all my life,” Kyung answers, leading them up the stairwell to take the short three flights up to the roof. “So I expressly forbid you to talk to him until… I dunno, you’re completely obsessed and besotted with me?”

//

"I wouldn't go so far as to say obsessed... But besotted? Yes, completely," Jiho shoots back, bumping Kyung gently with his shoulder as they climb the stairs. 

He opens the door for Kyung – less gentlemanly, more realistic, cause Kyung is a short man and he can barely see shit over the top of the mats and blankets he's carrying – and then they're spilling out onto the roof, the cold air piercing his lungs, invigorating him. 

He turns in a circle and looks around – roofs are good places for snipers, and also good for ambushes generally – but sees nothing but discarded beer bottles and cigarette butts. Deciding it's safe, he turns back to see Kyung drop his pile of stuff and begin arranging it, and steps forward to help.

//

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised that Jiho’s so straightforward, considering that Kyung hasn’t been too subtle about his attraction either. It’s refreshing and makes things so much easier, even if the lid to the details of Jiho’s life seems firmly shut. He’s been in Kyung’s room, now, met one of Kyung’s friends, and he still doesn’t know what the hell Jiho does for a living. 

“Are you sure you’re not scared of heights?” Kyung asks again, when he catches Jiho scanning the place with an odd look on his face. “We could always do this in the stairwell. Doesn’t have the same romantic effect, but your dick’s less likely to get frostbite?” Even as he says that, he starts laying out the things—picnic mat, blankets, takes the tray from Jiho’s hands to set it down on the floor. Then he fishes for his phone and quickly taps at it, downloading an app before propping the device up against the wall behind them, its screen now brightly displaying a flickering animated candle.

//

"I would have picked up candles if you'd asked, you know," Jiho says, nodding at the phone and settling on the picnic blanket cross legged, patting the floor next to him, an implicit invitation. "But it's sweet. Where are the rose petals?"

More than anything he just wants to kiss Kyung, hard, feel his lips again, but he's also fucking starving and the food  _ does _ smell good. Travelling all over the world has given him somewhat of an iron stomach, so he's not afraid of Kyung's dodgy cooking – besides, if they get diarrhea, they'll get it together, and there's a sort of fucked up romance in that.

He picks up a bowl and holds it close to his chest, relishing the warmth it exudes, smelling the steam, waiting for Kyung to start before he digs in.

//

"You joke buuuut—" Kyung says, setting the bowl he'd just picked up down again so he can reach over to snag his phone to adjust the settings. There's a plethora of options and he selects one after a brief contemplation. The menu option dims and the screen soon fills up with pink petals floating over the candles. "Do you feel significantly more romanced, now?"

He grins at Jiho, smug and wide, as though he'd been actually been the one who'd invented this app.  And then he's picking up his bowl again, pinching some noodles coated with his chopsticks to blow at it. "Say aaaah," Kyung instructs, loudly and as obnoxiously as possible, leaning forward to wave the noodles in Jiho's face. He's aware that this act is completely redundant because Jiho has his own share, but that's what everything Kyung has done is about, isn't it? To provoke a reaction out of Jiho.

//

Jiho stares at the chopsticks being waved perilously in front of his mouth, and then looks back up at Kyung doubtingly. Reluctantly, however, he opens his mouth and lets Kyung shovel a mouthful of noodles, in, bashing him in the teeth with his chopsticks as he does so.

He chews appreciatively. Whatever the fuck Kyung has concocted is extremely spicy, and it hits his tongue at once – but the flavour hiding behind the spice is there, and it's good, so he nods, swallowing and smiling. "It's nice," he tells Kyung, dipping into his own bowl for some noodles and holding them up to Kyung's face, waiting for him to open his mouth. "Your turn."

//

As Kyung’s mouth closes over the mouthful of noodles—as he slurps it up in the most undignified manner he can, moaning exaggeratedly after—he registers that this is the most intimate they’ve been. Yeah, he’s counting the time he had Jiho’s dick in his mouth. That was lust, that was an outright magnetism that drew them together and didn’t allow for any room otherwise. This, though? This smells like the beginning of something new. This also smells like Kyung’s culinary genius paying off.

“It’s good, right?” Kyung eggs on as he chews. It’s almost obscene how he’s doing so with his mouth open, but he figures Jiho’s seen him in nothing but his Transformers boxers—had chosen to give him a handjob even after  _ that _ —so there’s really nothing else left to lose. 

The noodles are spicy though, so he ends up gasping for mouthfuls of air, trying to remain grinning throughout. He ends up reaching for the six pack of beers, prying one out of the container to open it and gulp it down. When he’s done, he taps his own cheek in a smug way, as if nothing had happened at all, angling his face in Jiho’s direction. “Doesn’t the chef deserve a kiss?”

//

Jiho watches amusedly as Kyung gasps for air and grabs a beer in quick succession, apparently unable to handle the spice from his own dish. Impressively, he chugs the beer in one go, crumpling the can in his hand when he's finished and turning to Jiho smugly, tapping his cheek and asking for a kiss.

Jiho quickly swallows the mouthful of noodles he has and places his bowl down on the ground before leaning over and, putting a hand in the ground to steady him, gently angles Kyung's chin around with his other hand so they're eye to eye and - watching as Kyung's eyes widen slightly, kisses him gently, softly, smiling against Kyung's lips happily.

//

It’s stupid that their proximity makes Kyung’s breath catch, makes Kyung’s eyes widen in surprise. This is silly—it’s the chastest type of kiss possible, but Kyung’s pulse races anyway, like it’s going to win an award for trying to murder Kyung. He’s pretty sure he tastes like an offensive mix of buldak flavouring and beer, but it doesn’t seem like Jiho minds, and he can’t resist pressing forward as he reciprocates, hand coming to a rest at the side of Jiho’s neck.

_ This _ is what he’s been missing this whole time—that instant spark of  _ want _ outside of lust that he’d thought he no longer was privy too simply because he’d grown older, more rational. But this reminded him that he’s still young, yet, and that emotions like these were still ones that he could feel. Or maybe it’s just Jiho.

That thought makes him laugh softly against Jiho’s lips. It feels like relief too, relief that he can pull away and recognize from the look from Jiho’s eyes that his emotions reflect Kyung’s too, as well, that endless possibilities of a united “we” stretched before them.

“I asked for a kiss on my cheek,” Kyung points out, just to be contrary. “This is too forward, Woo Jiho. Who do you think I am?” 


	3. Chapter 3

Jiho covers his mouth with his hands, mock-embarrassed. "Oh, Park Kyung, do forgive me. I tend to get…" he drifts closer to Kyung, so their lips are brushing as he speaks his next words, "…carried away in the presence of attractive men such as yourself."

He's not lying, either – Kyung is better than any drug he's ever done, more intoxicating, more exhilarating, just  _ more _ . So he kisses Kyung again, high on the simple knowledge that he  _ can _ , high on his feelings and the fact he knows that Kyung feels the same way.

The kiss is chaste, gentle, but soon it deepens into something  _ more _ . That day before, in the change room – that was nothing but pure, unadulterated need, shooting through his veins and setting his nerves on fire. This? This is a slow, sweet burn, starting in his stomach and spreading so he feels warm all over as his tongue tentatively touches Kyung's, his hand touching Kyung's face gently, cradling his head.

//

Kyung had Plans for tonight—they mostly involved eating the food that he’d made and finding out things about Jiho that expanded beyond  _ hates chai latte _ and  _ easily persuaded _ and  _ really nice dick _ and  _ even nicer lips _ . But all of that flies out of the window the moment their kiss starts to heat up. And then Kyung finds his hand curling the front of Jiho’s—uglier than it is expensive—t-shirt, feelings himself drawing closer like a moth to a flame.

And that’s what Jiho is, isn’t he? He’s warm and bright and indescribably magnetic. Or maybe Kyung’s just a sucker. Either way, he presses in closer so they come chest to chest, arm curling around Jiho’s waist in a way that he’s really, really missed, even if he’d only done it once before.

“Shit,” he accidentally mumbles aloud when they break apart for air. He’s tempted to laugh, tempted to break this thick tension between them because his heart is hammering so quickly, he’s pretty damn sure it’s hammering a pattern into Jiho’s chest.

//

Jiho slides his arm around Kyung's waist and tugs him gently backwards, lying down carefully so they end up on the ground, staring up at the stars. He feels Kyung curl around him and nuzzles into his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead, savouring the moment.

"Thank you for the food," he whispers. "It was lovely."

Jesus, he's never felt like this before – some snarled up combination of pure lust and also waves of affection that hit him one after the other, making him grateful for the cool night air against his face, because he feels like his heart is going to jump right out of his chest and do a dance across the roof with the way it's hammering. Once he'd had to kill a senator, and his nervousness then doesn't even compare to what he's feeling now; he's out of his depth and, whereas normally that would be a reason to panic, he relishes in it, not knowing what's coming next.

//

“Is there something on my face?” Kyung asks, just because he can’t stand the silence. Not because it’s uncomfortable, no, but because he’s scared. Or, not  _ scared _ , per se. Nervous. Anxious. His skin feels coated in a layer of electricity that buzzes loudly whenever Jiho touches him, wherever Jiho touches him. And the only way he can offset the intensity of this feeling is to  _ talk _ . 

“Tell me something about yourself,” he continues, without waiting for Jiho to answer, disregarding the fact that he sounds like a cliched dating site introduction. He wonders if it’s the element of mystery that has him drawing back again and again and again, but the feeling in his gut tells him that it isn’t. The feeling in his gut also tells him to roll over, so he’s half laying on Jiho, looking down at him as he scans his face. Briefly, he thinks that if Jaehyo hadn’t seen Jiho just now, he could  _ really _ be a figment of Kyung’s imagination. And what a damn good hallucination he is.

//

"I did my mandatory military service as soon as I finished high school," he murmurs, the first thing that comes to mind, before blanching.

Fuck. That's more than he wants to admit right now because it leads to questions, and questions are not good, because he'll have to fucking lie about what he does and he doesn't know how to do that convincingly – not really. So, hastily, he pulls Kyung on top of him and blinks at him owlishly. "Quid pro quo, Kyung. Your turn."

He doesn't know how he's going to focus on whatever Kyung's going to say, however – this much skin contact between them is heady, making him feel drunk, although he hasn't had any beer yet. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from just kissing Kyung – because he genuinely wants to hear Kyung's reply.

//

Jiho may be a mystery, but it’s obvious enough when he doesn’t want to talk about something by the way his face goes eerily blank, just for a moment. Kyung files that away under the short list of things he knows about Woo Jiho, making a soft sound of surprise when Jiho tugs him even closer. 

“Do I weigh nothing to you?” Kyung questions, but he’s glad for the angle. This means he can prop an arm by the side of Jiho’s head to tangle his hand in his hair, brushing the loose strands out of his face. It’s softer than he’d expected, silky golden between his fingers, and his eyes flutter close for the minutest moment to commit it to memory. Whatever may come, Kyung thinks, this is a snapshot in time he’s keeping permanently. This, and all the feelings swirling around it. 

“Okay, let’s see… my roommate’s called Jaehyo, but you know that already. I had pizza for dinner? Does that count?” Kyung answers with a shit-eating grin, practically beaming down at Jiho.

//

Jiho grins back happily at Kyung, not even caring that he's taking the piss. That's what he gets, he supposes – if he doesn't reveal something about himself, he won't  _ get _ anything in return.

He knows, in the back of his head, that at some point he's going to have to tell Kyung – he's just going to  _ have _ to. His job is too weaved into the threads of his life to keep it a secret for very long; it's an inevitability that's rushing towards him like a steam train, but he doesn't want to look at it, can't even  _ acknowledge _ it.

Because he knows what Kyung's reaction will be – run for the hills. That's what any sane person would do, and while Kyung seems a little… eccentric, he has a healthy survival instinct and isn't mad. He'll be gone the moment the words leave Jiho's mouth, he knows that, and it hurts so much to think about because – fuck. He's never felt like this about someone before, and with Kyung staring down at him happily, his face framed by stars, their breath frosting in the air together – fuck, it's too much to think about, losing this tentative  _ thing _ they have, he can't bear the thought of it.

So he slides his hand down to the small of Kyung's back and kisses him, an edge of desperation on his lips. If he has nothing in the future – if this all fades away, like he  _ knows _ it will – he will at least have tonight.

//

Kyung’s never been the sort of person to drink (too much, anyway) or do drugs, a side effect of being a pastor’s kid as evidenced by how his siblings had turned out as well. But if he’d done it, he imagines it’d be something like this—all too intoxicating and addicting and  _ easy _ to keep going back to again and again and again.

It’s all too easy to be derailed when something like that’s handed to Kyung for free. Someone like that, to be more accurate. Jiho kisses him like it’s their last time, and it makes Kyung weak at the knees, makes him feel like he’s about to go wheeling out of control. So he slides his other hand into Jiho’s hair as well, tugging slightly to angle his lips better so Kyung can deepen the kiss. It’s more of a question than anything else, something he doesn’t know how to say aloud without sounding like he’s off his rocker—what are you looking for? How can I take you there?

//

Jiho moans softly into Kyung’s mouth, the end result sounding a lot more erotic than he intended. If they end up fucking here on the rooftop that’s fine by him – he doesn’t care if they just kiss, either, so long as he has Kyung in his arms –

When the fuck did he get so weak? How has Kyung made him like this, turned him inside out so that all the soft parts he’d kept hidden away are on view for anyone to see? How can one human being  _ do _ that? He can’t think about how Kyung kisses him like they were made to be, like all those fucking cliches about jigsaw puzzles suddenly make sense, so he slips his hands underneath Kyung’s shirt, his back hot underneath his hands, feeling Kyung’s hand tighten in his hair, pull him deeper.

//

In between adjusting to the cold and the heat of Jiho’s touches, Kyung decides Jiho’s strange. Not the whole blood-soaked shirt refrain, no. That’s kind of old and worn out and Kyung figures he can’t turn a blind eye to it in return for all… this. Jiho’s strange because he does these things—kiss Kyung, touch Kyung, leave imprints of himself everywhere—with a touch of despair. It permeates him in a way that Kyung thinks he  _ must _ be imagining it. Because they’re barely at the starting line, what else could it be? 

Kyung could consider through the multiple options—secretly dating someone else, secretly a spy, secretly some sort of alien race—but all logical thoughts leave him when Jiho’s mouth fixes on a spot under his ear. He goes weak, boneless, gasping sharply in surprise. Then he responds by pushing up the hem of Jiho’s shirt, exposing a wide expanse of muscles and skin and— holy shit, even by touch alone Kyung discovers that Jiho really wasn’t bragging the first time they’d met. 

“What the fuck  _ are _ you?” Kyung questions with an incredulous laugh that spills out of him almost helplessly. And then he’s pushing himself up to sit on Jiho’s lap, thighs bracketing Jiho’s hips as he stares down at him with an unabashed appreciation, hands almost moving in slow motion as he tries to undo Jiho’s pants.

//

“I told you,” Jiho mutters with a wry smile as he struggles to pull his shirt over his head. “I’m a vampire hunter.” 

He succeeds in ripping the shirt off and flings it away, not caring if it sails over the edge. He should probably stop using that vampire line lest Kyung  _ believe _ it – as of right now he still knows Jiho’s joking. He hopes. He’s about to point out that Kyung’s hands are shaking, opens his mouth to do so – and promptly shuts it again as Kyung yanks his jeans down, fingernails raking Jiho’s skin, making him buck his hips, moaning into the night sky as Kyung’s hand closes on his cock and starts stroking.

He’s reaching for Kyung, then, grabs him by the hair and pulls him down to meet in a crushing kiss, struggling upwards onto his elbow in a hodge-podge of limbs and gasps and  _ pleasure _ as through it all Kyung keeps stroking, his eyes watching Jiho measuredly. Jiho feels the affection there, can taste it on his tongue and feel it on his lungs and it’s too much, it’s too fucking much because right here on the rooftop with his jeans around his ankles and his tongue in Kyung’s mouth he realises this is the best thing he’s ever had and he’s going to lose it, he’s going to lose it and he doesn’t know what to do about that so he just  _ reaches  _ for Kyung, desperate to drown this out through touch.

//

The desperation colours everything; Kyung can no longer distinguish if it’s Jiho or if it’s him or if it’s a combination of the both of them working towards something larger than themselves. But for now, Jiho’s warm and solid and pliant under him, responsive to the touch, so easily breakable, for all the muscle and height that he has. It’s intoxicating, this thought, that Kyung literally has Jiho in his grasp, that Jiho’s chest flushes a slight red as Kyung keeps stroking on, unable to do anything but  _ watch _ and  _ commit this to memory _ . 

Jiho’s hand extends towards Kyung and Kyung catches it, grins down at him sharply for a second—and it’s a grin that promises a surety for this night and the next, and the night after that, and all the other nights they can afford to give each other—and then he’s kissing the center of Jiho’s palm. Slowly, with his lips just slightly parted, making his way down towards Jiho’s wrist, where the skin is soft and fragile and the bones shift underneath when Kyung sinks his teeth gently and sucks, hard, to leave a mark. 

“Vampire hunter, huh?” Kyung says, definitely too late to catch onto that train of thought. But in his defense, he’s otherwise preoccupied. “That means you’re good at watching, right?” He reluctantly lets go of Jiho’s cock so he kick off his own pants in a hurry, and then, with sudden alarming clarity, he realizes he’s fucking naked on the goddamn roof and really, any drunk person could walk in on them in the moment. But Jiho’s also reverently quiet, under him, looking like he’s afraid he might break the moment. Kyung doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s not about to go anywhere, especially not now. So he grabs Jiho’s hand to wrap it around Kyung’s dick as he grins, making a big show of licking his fingers in the most b-rated porno way possible before spreading his thighs open to slide the first one in.

//

The sight of this – Kyung on top of him, kneeling over Jiho, fingering himself openly while Jiho jerks him off somewhat helplessly – is the single most erotic thing he’s ever seen, even if Kyung hams it up deliberately. It’s not just the fact that from this angle Jiho can see  _ everything _ – it’s also in the grins that Kyung shoots him, grins full of promise and happiness, grins that Jiho knows are a lie.

He starts to speak, but his voice is gone – it takes a few moments before the words come to him, in a rush all at once so he sounds like he’s high. “Goodatwatchingbetteratdoing. Woah,” he murmurs, his other hand settling on Kyung’s thigh and gripping it, anchoring him.

He’d slipped a condom and a little sachet of lube into his wallet earlier somewhat absentmindedly, but he sends a thank-you prayer up to whoever may be listening, because they’re going too fast to stop now. He can’t do anything, can’t even  _ think _ – all he can do is watch Kyung’s fingers sliding in and out, watch him tip his head back, so the lines of his throat are illuminated in the pale, milky light of the moon; all he can do is feel the anguish that wraps around him, permeating everything, lingering everywhere.

//

Kyung thinks he’s going to die—not because he’s got three fingers sliding in and out of his ass as he tries to keep his position upright when Jiho’s hand is on his dick, no, although that’s pretty fucking terrible as it is. It’s because of the way Jiho’s looking at him, like he can’t quite believe this is happening, mouth hanging slightly ajar and pupils blown wide. Kyung wants this, he realizes, with a sort of startling suddenness. Not  _ wants this _ in an off-handed, maybe something will happen, maybe something won’t, kind of way. But he wants Jiho.

“Come here,” he says, voice shaky with want and need. His hands feel good, but now he needs the real thing. Needs to feel Jiho pressed up against him. Needs to feel the press of their bodies together before he goes absolutely crazy. So he stops fingering himself to pull Jiho up into a seated position, arms coming around his neck. 

“I hope you came prepared because I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me,” he adds lowly, a little dramatically, but with a completely serious expression.

//

Wordlessly, he hooks his jeans with his foot and drags them towards him, somewhat awkwardly, given that Kyung’s on his lap. He snags them and pulls his wallet out from the back pocket, pulling out the lube and handing it to Kyung, grabbing the condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He’s almost –  _ vibrating _ with his need, it’s overflowing, pouring out through his pores – he’s sure Kyung can feel it, he  _ must _ be able to read it in the way Jiho touches him, grabbing his hips and angling him. Jiho watches through half-lidded eyes as Kyung slips two slick fingers inside himself again, Jiho’s hands going through the movement of putting the condom on automatically. He’s done it a thousand times before but this, this is  _ different  _ and new and his hands are shaking as he wraps his arms around Kyung’s waist, pulling him closer and down, signalling he’s ready.

It happens in slow motion after that; the way Kyung grabs his dick and angles it and then, with no pomp or circumstance, sits on Jiho’s cock, arching his neck back and moaning as he inches himself down. Jiho’s pretty sure his eyes roll back in his head but he can’t tell – he’s  _ definitely  _ vibrating now and he must look crazy, because Kyung is so hot and warm and wet and they fit so perfectly together that it hurts to think about. 

In this position, he has very little control – all he can do is hang on to Kyung and let him set the pace, his nails digging into the flesh of Kyung’s back, pressing kisses to every part of Kyung he can reach as –  slowly, slowly, Kyung starts to move, riding him. 

Kyung leans down and kisses him messily, sloppily, his tongue replicating the undulations his hips are making; the simultaneous movements making Jiho feel faint – it’s all he can do to hang on and be present, the pleasure rippling through his core, making his nerve endings come to life, like he’s being burnt slowly from the inside out.

//

He breaks the kiss when he feels like he can barely breathe, fingers gripping onto the broad planes of Jiho’s shoulders like he’s Kyung’s buoy. And he is, in a way. Everything is so surreal that Kyung feels like he might float away if not for Jiho, here, anchoring him down, keeping him  _ whole _ . It’s not something he experiences often—sex is just sex, sometimes, like a more complicated version of him jacking himself off. But here? Right now? With his forehead pressed against Jiho’s, their skin becoming slick with a thin sheen of sweat despite the weather, and as he raises and lowers himself, thighs flexing against Jiho’s hips, Kyung feels like he’s standing at the foot of something larger than he’d previously thought.

“Fuck,” he curses, then bites his lip in between pants, unable to find the litany of words that usually poured freely out of him in situations like these. It’s hard to keep his senses together when Jiho’s looking at him like  _ that _ , and that every time Kyung  _ squeezes _ Jiho eyelids flutter like he’s not sure if he should keep them shut or not. Kyung decides to make that decision for him.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low and choked as he swallows and swallows and swallows. It feels so fucking good, but he has so much to say to Jiho, so much he wants to ask but doesn’t know how to. So he cups Jiho’s chin to kiss him again, his moans of  _ Jiho, please _ getting lost in between them.

//

So Jiho looks, doing as he’s told as he is fucked, turned inside out, all the rough parts of him – all the hatred and murder and death and sin that permeate him, walk with him constantly – gone, replaced with nothing but Kyung, Kyung,  _ Kyung,  _ in the feelings that assault him from every direction. 

He feels himself inching ever-closer to orgasm but he doesn’t  _ want _ that, he wants to freeze time so there’s nothing but them together like this, on this freezing cold rooftop, swathed in moonlight. He doesn’t want to go back to his normal life, he doesn’t want to _ leave _ – so he bites his lip as Kyung looks into his eyes, mourning everything. 

“Kyung…” he mutters, the only thing he can seem to say – Kyung has stolen his words from him, replaced them with his name, but that’s okay. It’s the only thing he wants to say right now. 

Kyung’s breath hitches in his throat at that and Jiho loves the way he looks so he says it again,  endless psalms of ‘ _ Kyung’ _ whispered into the night air as the pleasure builds in his stomach, his thighs– everywhere building, building, until he has to shut his eyes because he’s about to come and he can’t look at Kyung, it’s too much, too damn much. He clenches his teeth and digs his nails in, letting his head loll back as his orgasm hits him at once, hard, the pleasure ripping through him, tearing, rending – he can say nothing but Kyung’s name over and over, like a prayer, the taste of it on his lips familiar and alien all at once.

//

Kyung didn’t think he was ready to come, but then he’s moving faster and faster to squeeze every last drop from Jiho, watching Jiho strain as he comes undone, a scattering in the night wind, and Kyung can only close his hand over Jiho’s on his dick and follow suit. Unlike Jiho, who has his eyes squeezed shut, Kyung keeps his gaze firmly on the line of Jiho’s jaw, on the curve of Jiho’s neck, on the red of his skin and the part of his lips. They translate into numbers, lengths and widths that he’ll reconstruct in his head of this precise moment, and then he’s gasping and swallowing, adam’s apple bobbing as he comes.

He slumps against Jiho, arm slung loosely around his neck as he tries to catch his breath, not quite wanting to move. It’s cold, he’s hyperaware of that, but more importantly, he feels  _ hot _ , and almost unbearably so. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, once he actually finds his voice. And then he’s laughing, a tinkling, unusually shy sound in the suddenly still air, burying his face in the curve of Jiho’s shoulder. His skin, when Kyung presses his lips to Jiho’s neck, is more salty than soapy as it was earlier, the marks that Kyung had kissed starting to colour in darkly, the contrast even more stark in the bright moonlight.

//

Now that it’s over – now that he can come back to himself – he feels his sweat beginning to cool instantly, feels the marks that Kyung has left all over him. He wraps his arms around Kyung and holds him as close as he possibly can, eliminating all space between them, smiling as Kyung buries his head in his shoulder, kissing him softly.

“Holy shit,” he echoes in agreement, closing his eyes and settling into the moment, no longer melancholy but simply content,  _ resigned _ . 

They sit like that for a few moments – Jiho thinks it’s the most peaceful thing he’s ever been a part of, and he loves Kyung for it – before Kyung starts to shiver in his arms, just little tremors that soon grow until his teeth are chattering. Jiho’s feeling the cold himself, but he represses his shivers and instead pushes Kyung back gently, smiling. “Get your clothes on. I’m not touching until you do.” Kyung opens his mouth to protest but Jiho lays a finger over his lips, shutting him up gently. “Trust me. Frostbite of the dick is a real thing.”

//

“No,” Kyung answers loudly, just to be contrary, tightening his arms around Jiho’s shoulders. But then Jaehyo’s voice floats into the forefront of his mind (“You fell sick doing  _ what? _ ”) and it’s really not the kind of image he wants post-orgasm. Or post-anything at all, actually, so he pulls a face and slowly raises himself, feeling sensitive from the dual combination of his orgasm and the fucking cold.

They’re good together, Kyung realizes that, better than most people Kyung’d ever been with, but he also realizes that until Jiho vocalizes something for certain, he can’t be sure that everything he’d said wasn’t just a by-product of lust. People say and agree to a lot of stupid shit when they want to get off. It’s these thoughts that colour his movements awkwardly as he reaches for his shirt and pulls his sweatpants on again, deciding that he probably needs a wash after this. And he’d ask Jiho to come along, if their dorm’s bathroom wasn’t the size of a drawer. 

“So,” he starts, wearing a grin that he doesn’t quite feel as he reaches for Jiho’s shirt to hand it back to him. “What about the rest of the beer?”

//

He can read the uneasiness all over Kyung’s face as he ties a knot in the condom and, carefully, puts it aside, reminding himself to pick up up later. Kyung’s one of the easiest people to read Jiho has ever come across, and right now what he’s picking up on is uncertainty, like – like he’s not sure what Jiho’s intentions are.

That stings, a little bit. He thought he’d made that clear when he’d came into Kyung saying nothing but his name – but then again everyone’s different and perhaps that’s not enough. So when Kyung hands him his shirt and asks about the beer with a pasted on smile (Jiho’s seen enough of Kyung grinning genuinely to know that this is as fake as they come) he catches Kyung’s wrist and looks at him, worried. “Hey. Are you alright?”

Or perhaps he’s reading it wrong, and Kyung’s suddenly having doubts now that they’ve fucked, and he wants Jiho to leave as soon as possible but doesn’t know how to break it to him; his heart sinks at the possibility but he keeps looking at Kyung, wanting to  _ know _ .

//

Kyung wants to shoot back a  _ do I not look alright? _ because really, they were strangers. Everything question Kyung’d asked him had ended up in a dead end, a road block with nowhere to go. But he doesn’t want to be  _ that _ guy either, the one who’s passive-aggressive and smiles when he doesn’t mean to smile. And the fact that Jiho’s bothering to ask at all should be telling in itself. 

So he dims down his grin into a soft smile, sliding their palms together so he can tug Jiho in closer and answers, “Nah, I’m just thinking.” Up close like this, he can see the concern written blatantly across Jiho’s face and that makes him feel guilty. Who says that certain things have to be vocalized for it to be true? Jiho seemed like a more taciturn kinda guy, and it’d be unfair for Kyung to assume things of him out of the blue. 

But there  _ had _ been that lapse in time since their first meeting until now. And experience tells Kyung that if they wanted it to happen, he wouldn’t have to wait. This should be easy, not complicated, not a dance around difficult subjects of which Kyung doesn’t know the steps to because his life had always been a simple series of  _ ask if you want to know _ . 

“Gonna stay the night?” Kyung asks instead, realizing that he has to find a new way around this. “‘cause if you are, I gotta say that this shirt’s gotta go.”

//

Jiho reaches around Kyung to grab his jeans and yanks them on awkwardly, before kneeling in front of him again. He opens his mouth – he wants to say  _ ‘I know that’s not all, tell me what you’re thinking’  _ – but he knows when to back down so shuts it again, knowing that he’s not going to get more out of Kyung – not just yet. So, reaching around Kyung to grab two beers, he hands one to him and as he cracks his open and tilts his head to the side, as if pondering. “That’s funny, actually. I seem to recall you really liking it,” he shoots back, taking a long gulp of his beer, wishing it was something stronger.

He’d probably be acting the same in Kyung’s shoes, honestly. Jiho’s refused to tell him anything about his life – because literally all there is to his life is death. He may as well be a ripped Grim Reaper for all the difference it makes; his scythe is a metaphorical one, sure, but the end result is the same. He kills people for a living. And he’s made his peace with that, he’d made that long ago when he’d looked that businessman in the eyes and watched his life drain away at Jiho’s hands… But to other people? He’s a monster. Perhaps they’re right – he just doesn’t know anymore. So yes, Kyung’s behaviour is normal. In fact, it’s actually an oddity, considering he’s stuck around for this long.

Which will probably change, and soon; Jiho can feel it coming in his bones, a heavy weight of something that’s as bitter as poison and hurts equally as much. If all he has is tonight – well. He’ll make it last.

Realising he’s been off in his own head while Kyung stares at him, he smiles broadly and reaches out to touch him on the face, gently, his thumb running over Kyung’s cheekbone. “Yes, I’d love to stay the night,” he replies softly.

//

_ What are you thinking? _ , Kyung wants to ask, wants to press the tip of his finger to Jiho’s forehead and instantly know everything there is to know, to know if what he knows is what Jiho knows. He’s used to an open easiness, the same that he has with all his friends, and he’s  _ good _ with getting people to open up. That’s one of his charms, and probably a side-effect of being a pastor’s kid. This though? Woo Jiho seemed like a complex equation that Kyung has no idea how to begin tackling.

But it’s not like he’s ever backed down from a challenge.

“Good, Jaehyo’s gonna scream at us in the morning,” Kyung says, taking his can with a quiet thanks as he turns his face against Jiho’s palm, eyes fluttering shut for the minutest of moments. It’s such a simple touch, but one that reminds him that this could be all very easy if he lets it be. If  _ they _ let it be. The thought makes him grin as he closes his hand over the one Jiho has on his face to tug him closer to Kyung so Kyung can use him as a glorified backrest. “We’ve  _ got _ to stop fucking in places where there are no beds.” He pauses, just to take a quick chug from his can for liquid courage, and then adds, “Do you do this often? Hit on strangers on the laundromat and fuck them?”

//

Jiho strokes his chin, pretending to be in thought, just long enough for Kyung to look up with him, an expression of horror stretched across his face, before grinning widely. “No, actually. Never done that before,” he replies, sliding an arm around Kyung’s neck to tuck him closer, under his arm. “First time for everything, isn’t that the saying?”

He takes a swig of his beer and looks up at the stars, feeling somewhat less melancholy in the throes of his post-orgasm.  _ Quid pro quo _ . “Why? Do  _ you _ fuck strangers you’ve met at the laundromat often?” he teases, pressing a fleeting kiss to Kyung’s forehead. 

Not even bothering to wait for a reply, he snags one of the duvets that Kyung had dragged upstairs and wraps it around them both so they’re sitting in a warm, fluffy tent, their faces peering out owlishly into the moonlight. Kyung had started to shiver again, just minutely; this should keep them warm until they decide to go back inside. Although, Jiho supposes, he wouldn’t really mind falling asleep up here, if that did end up happening; he’d be happy to sleep anywhere as long as Kyung is by his side.

//

Kyung’s generally a person who feels comfortable in the presence of strangers; he’s a people person, there’s no doubting that. Always the first to introduce himself, always the first to make plans. But there’s something about Jiho that makes Kyung more than comfortable—it’s the sort of ease you feel with someone whom you know feels at ease with you, too. And with no pretense about it, no smiles brightened up for the same of keeping up with the idea of what their relationship was. The things that he says isn’t him following a social script that’d been ingrained in him since young. Each touch isn’t a  _ I’m touching because this seems right _ , but a  _ I’m touching because I need to _ . And that’s what it all boils down to, isn’t it? This indescribable need that intensifies when Jiho kisses his forehead, when Jiho notices him shivering in the cold and puts a blanket over them both. Not a want, but a need. 

He sets the can down so he can slide his arms tightly around Jiho’s waist and grin up at him as he answers, “Maybe that’s a regular Tuesday for me, have you ever considered that? Maybe it’s my only incentive to do my laundry—to get laid by mysterious strangers with blood-soaked shirts?” It’s a question within a question, drawing them back to where they’d all started.  _ Is that blood? _ isn’t the problem, any more; they both know he knows, it’s  _ how _ it got there that’s the issue. It’s like they’ve zoomed out from the smaller picture and Kyung’s trying to make all the connections he can to come to a conclusion.

//

"Really? Jiho replies, nestling into Kyungs touch. "How many bloody-clothed strangers so far have you fucked? And, more importantly..." he trails off to press a kiss to Kyung's lips, short but sweet, "...were they all as good as me?"

He's not stupid – he knows Kyung is probing in an insidious way, and perhaps he should shut it down right now but – for a fleeting second he'd almost thought  _ he deserves to know _ . The worst part is he  _ does _ deserve to know. Jiho wants so badly to open up to him, to reveal his soul for what it is, to tear himself inside out and offer up the pieces to Kyung... But he can't, because then he'll lose him, and they've only just begun.

//

“Isn’t that a little overconfident?” Kyung returns, raising his hand to hold his index finger and thumb just the slightest bit apart. They both know he’s just talking shit; what had transpired was electric, one-of-a-kind, never to be replicated again. Or, at least, Kyung thought so. He’d like to say, with at least 95% confidence, that Jiho felt the same. Sure, he didn’t have the same sort of muscle mass; really he was more flesh and inactivity than muscles, but Jiho came back for seconds, didn’t he? “What if I say no?” 

He’s also aware that Jiho had, once again, circumnavigated the question. And he really wants to respect Jiho’s privacy. He  _ really _ does. But he doesn’t know how to stay away from the topic either. For all he knows, Jiho could be a psychopath in the making, and all that blood could be him experimenting on small animals.  _ Or _ he could be an extra in a zombie film. If it were the latter, Kyung can’t figure out  _ why _ it would be something Jiho wanted to hide, so psychopath seemed like an easy conclusion to draw. But then he thinks about the Jiho of the easy smiles.  _ This _ Jiho, who kisses Kyung whenever he gets the chance to, who’s free with his affections and responds to Kyung faster than Kyung realizes he’s even giving out any sort of signal at all. 

Torn between the two—with a nice, helpful dose of exhaustion from the day’s events—Kyung blurts out, “I’m never gonna find out why you had to go to the laundromat, am I?"

//

Jiho immediately panics, although he doesn’t show it on the outside, not even allowing himself to tense up. His options are a) flee, which isn’t really a viable option because if he does he guarantees he’ll never see Kyung again; b) eliminate the threat – again, not a viable option, because Kyung isn’t  _ really  _ posing a threat to him right now; c) tell the truth, which means Kyung will walk out of his life without a backwards glance; or d)... lie. Which he’s been avoiding all this time.

He’s fucking good at lying, of course (he can sweet-talk his way out of anything if he’s in a good mood, but he rarely bothers, prefers to just knock people out instead), but he should have just done it from the beginning. He has to get Kyung to believe that he’s a… he’s a… he casts around in his head for something, grasping at straws. Working at an abattoir? No. Extra in a kinky porn film? Hell no. Art student…? Possibly. But why would he keep it a secret? Family shame, perhaps? 

It’s all he’s got right now so he decides to run with it, his heart in his mouth as he chuckles lightly and looks up at the stars, feigning discomfort. Not that this conversation isn’t uncomfortable, because it is, but because he’s  _ lying _ to Kyung and, God, he’ll commit straight-up murder for money but he hates lying to people – and Kyung isn’t  _ people.  _ “I suppose I should tell you, huh.”

Kyung doesn’t respond, just looks at him evenly, and he blinks once, long and hard. “I’m… I’m studying art, believe it or not. At the uni across town,” he mutters quietly, adding a trace of bitterness to his voice. “I keep it a secret from most people because my parents don’t know and they’d disown me if they found out. They’re really strict and like to keep tabs on my friends. I was helping a friend with his final exhibition before I went to the laundromat that day. I’d been up for 36 hours because he kept making us do it over and over again,” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face and pulling the blanket tighter in over his shoulders.

He looks down at the ground for a long moment, before looking up at Kyung, arranging his facial features into an expression of hurt. “I’m… I’m really sorry I hid it from you, Kyung.”

A knife slides into him at the final words of his lie, cutting him open from the outside, spilling his guts on the floor. This is just cruel – it’s  _ wrong _ and the fact that  _ he _ thinks something is wrong is laughable considering how out of whack his moral compass is, but still, the point stands. This lie leaves a horrible taste in his mouth, so he’s not exactly feigning the way he looks at Kyung. 

//

Kyung’s immediate reaction is to laugh, the worry he didn’t know he had draining out of him almost all at once. Jesus, was that all? Was that just it? But the look on Jiho’s face tells him that this is a more severe issue to him than it is to Kyung, and immediately he feels guilty that he has his face pressed to Jiho’s shoulder, trying to hold in his chuckles.  _ An art student _ , Kyung thinks to himself as all the pieces slot in together. That would explain his lateness in contacting Kyung—Kyung didn’t know a single artsy type who didn’t have troubles keeping up with deadlines. 

More importantly, Kyung’s been ragging on Jaehyo for  _ years _ for picking up photography, and here he is now, irrevocably attracted to one. He can’t even blame karma for this because it’s  _ Jiho _ and Kyung’s starting to find out that Jiho is one hell of an achilles heel for him. Already he’s making concessions for the guy. (Strike one: lying, but he’ll turn a blind eye to it.) Besides, he looks guilty enough that Kyung can’t help but push himself up a little so he can kiss Jiho’s cheek.

“I can’t beleive you think that’s cause to  _ lie _ ,” Kyung says, unable to stop himself from spluttering which ends up with him covering his mouth. “Okay, I’m good. It’s not funny. Thank you for telling me. Does this mean you’re gonna paint me nude some day? Wait, do you paint? I assume all that—” Kyung gestures at the front of his shirt, an euphemism of what he’d thought had been blood “—was paint. When can I see them? I can travel across town!”

//

Jiho knows he’s in too deep the moment the words leave his mouth, but he can’t turn back now, so plasters a smile across his face as Kyung starts babbling about being painted. 

“Actually it was fake blood. My friend’s final exhibition was… weird. And no, I’m not a painter. I draw,” he explains. This is, at least, only a white lie – he was quite good at drawing when he puts his mind to it. He’d never considered going to  _ school _ for it, though, especially as what he drew most in high school was anatomically correct portraits of schoolmates he’d had crushes on. “But we can do some ‘draw me like one of your French girls’ shit if you’d like,” he grins, snuggling closer to Kyung, the lie suddenly not seeming so bad in the face of drawing Kyung nude.

And then the second half of Kyung’s words sink in and his heart skips a beat because Jesus Christ, Kyung could turn up to uni and ask about him and, of course, no one will have ever heard of him. His mind races with the possibilities – he has enough money, so he’s probably going to have to hire a few students desperate for cash to pretend to be his classmates  –

Fuck. He’s in _way_ over his head. Way, _way_ over his head. But as Kyung grins up at him expectantly, he smiles and raises an eyebrow. “As for seeing my drawings, sure you could come to uni with me. But that’s _boring._ You could come over to mine, instead...” he purrs, making the sentence sound deliberately suggestive. Kyung isn’t stupid – in fact, he’s a bit too smart for his own good – but Jiho hopes that just this once he’ll fall for the lie Jiho is spinning for him.

//

There’s something not quite right with the story Jiho’s telling. Not for the fact that it isn’t sound, no, but it’s the look on Jiho’s face that says he’s not quite comfortable with this at all. Of course, it could also be that Kyung’s just insensitive; he never had to deal with disapproval from his parents on the academic front, so it’s hard to imagine why Jiho would find this difficult to talk about with  _ Kyung _ , of all people. 

But he decides to shelve that concern first; he’s far more interested in Jiho talking about his place. This apartment of his seems like an analogy for Jiho himself—elusive and far away and something almost  _ transient _ , so hell  _ yes _ Kyung wanted to see it. Even if he had to walk there from here, he would.

“Deal,” he says the moment the invite leaves Jiho’s mouth, and then he quickly leans up to seal it with a kiss, grinning smugly after. He doesn’t see himself as a very imaginative person, in the sense that his type of thinking had always been limited in numbers and graphs and lines, but now he can’t help but speculate. “You’re gonna have a fuckton of really hipster art up, aren’t you?” Kyung leans a little bit away, holding his fingers up in a little frame to view Jiho with. “Now I kinda see it,  _ especially _ with that shirt.”

//

“Fuck off,” Jiho laughs, shoving Kyung on the shoulder gently, pressing another kiss to the side of his temple. “I was forced into wearing this shirt. I usually wear black.”

Thank  _ Christ _ his usual wardrobe is a typical art student’s wardrobe, so that he doesn’t have to fake. It’s just the rest of it he has to make up –  a whole fucking life, from parents (not in the picture) to a university (he’s never set foot in one). However, things are looking up for the moment and he needs to just let go and savour it, so he snuggles into Kyung and sighs happily. 

“Are we going to sleep up here?” he whispers into Kyung’s hair. “I don’t mind if we do, although you might freeze to death.”

//

"Hey," Kyung defends, pulling away from where he'd been comfortably setting in, trying his best to look affronted when he's this godamn close to Woo Jiho, "I'm strong. I can lift a car. With  _ one _ hand. I'll piggy-back you to my room, even."

While falling asleep right here seemed like a good idea, he knows that he's going to regret choosing a stiff, hard place to pass out on when morning comes. Besides, Jaehyo's going to think that Jiho'd kidnapped Kyung and enlist their friends in a search and rescue, which was the last thing Kyung wanted to happen. Besides, it’s  _ Sunday _ tomorrow.

“Uh,” Kyung adds, a little unsurely, because he doesn’t know if Jiho would be comfortable with the idea of church. Or, even worse, the thought of meeting Kyung’s parents, who had the idea that every one of Kyung’s friends were people he wanted to marry. Jaehyo’s been on the receiving end of that spiel for so many years that he’s taken to playing up to the part. “I kinda… have an early morning tomorrow?"

//

Jiho nods and unwraps the blanket, the cold air hitting him like a smack. “If you have an early day we should probably go to sleep. What do you have on?”

School, perhaps? Do people even have uni on a Sunday? Or maybe work, if Kyung has a job – fuck, he doesn’t even know if Kyung has a job. He really  _ is _ out of touch with reality; he has no idea what a regular uni student of Kyung’s age would be doing. He adds that to his list of things to find out as he gets up and pulls Kyung to his feet, begins gathering the rubbish to take back downstairs, sneaking glances over his shoulder at Kyung, biting his lip to stop from smiling.

//

“You’re not very good at hiding… this—” Kyung gestures at his face, indicating the dopey look on Jiho’s of which he’s pretty sure he’s wearing an exact replica “—you know. I thought you’d have a better poker face.” He puts off answering the question, if only because he doesn’t know how to answer the question.  _ I have to go to church because my dad’s Jesus’ number one fan _ just didn’t seem to cut it quite right. It’s more of an obligation for him, really, a weekly ritual he’s grown accustomed to since young. And even if he  _ did _ say it, it’ll sound too much like an invitation to Meet the Parks. 

“I’ve got a family thing,” Kyung ends up saying as he pushes open the door to let Jiho through first, and then follows suit after him, arms full with the godamn picnic mat and duvets, “you can, uh, chill in my room. Check out what university life is like on a more superior campus.” He doesn’t want their time together to end, so he hopes he doesn’t sound  _ too _ pushy in asking for a third meeting so soon after their second. Then again, this…  _ thing _ they have between them didn’t seem like protocol either. No standard rules seemed to apply, not when Kyung has to bite his lip and look away every time their gazes lock a little too long like he’s some virginal schoolboy on a date for the first time.

//

Jiho knows a soft ‘fuck off’ when he gets one, and by God it would be hypocritical of him to press for details so he lets sleeping dogs lie as he heads down the stairs, his arms holding the tray with their empty bowls. It makes him curious, though – as if he wasn’t already curious enough about Kyung. It’s a small, hollow victory to know that he’s not the only one keeping secrets.

He scoffs, mustering up some pretense of allegiance to a university he doesn’t even attend and a campus he has never set foot on. “Oh, come  _ on. _ Our art school kicks your asses.” He half turns so he’s looking Kyung in the eye, and grins widely, happily. “Besides, I’m a late sleeper, so I’ll probably still be passed out in your bed when you get back. Guess I’ll have to miss out on those  _ superior _ facilities.”

He can read Kyung like a book by now, sense the slight hesitance in asking him to stick around, but fuck, it’s not like Jiho’s got anything else to do with his life at the moment. The Organisation never sends him on jobs without a gap of at least four days in between (unless it’s a political crisis, he’s had a few of them) so he’d just be spending most of his time in his apartment anyway, sleeping or drinking.

They reach the door to Kyung’s dorm and he hesitates. “Will Jaehyo be sleeping?” he asks, still wary of the other man – now it’s just another person he has to lie to, someone else he has to remember every word of their conversation for. 

//

“It’s 3 in the morning and he hasn’t slept in the past  _ week _ ,” Kyung answers, remembering just how many nights in the past few days he’d woken up to the sounds of Ahn Jaehyo playing sad ballads as he sifted through and edited his pictures. It’s almost as bad as a nightmare. But today, with Jiho about to the share the same sleeping space as him, he doesn’t think he’ll have that problem. “Why, are you scared of him?” 

Kyung shoots him a teasing grin with his eyebrow raised as he fumbles with the magnetic lock of their door, making a soft shushing sound and nodding in the direction of Jaehyo’s bed, where he was now asleep with his limbs askew in the most uncomfortable looking position ever. Toeing off his flip-flops, Kyung sets his things down, then turns around to help Jiho do the same just so he can take both Jiho’s hands in his to lead him towards his bed. It’s gonna be a tight squeeze, but then he doesn’t think he can leave very much space between Jiho and him.

“That shirt has to go,” Kyung whispers, tugging at the hem of Jiho’s shirt when they reach the foot of Kyung’s bed. “It’s gonna haunt me in my sleep.”

//

Jiho sighs melodramatically and rips off the shirt in one smooth movement, watching amusedly as Kyung’s eyes widen slightly, still not used to the sight of Jiho’s body. He usually wears baggy shirts for this exact reason; he’s not a show off.  _ “You _ bought it for me, asshole,” he teases, letting the shirt drop to the floor (where it blends in seamlessly with the other piles of clothes) and crawls into bed, slipping underneath the duvet and sighing happily, a smile stretched over his face.

He feels rather than sees Kyung follow him, and when he turns on his side Kyung is lying there, looking at him reverently, in awe – and he doesn’t like that so he pokes him in the shoulder. “Why do you have to keep your shirt on? That’s not fair.” 

//

Kyung gets the distinct sense that Jiho's not used to being  _ looked _ at, by the way his ears turn red when Kyung kisses him, and by the way he tries to break the silence whenever he catches Kyung doing so. He doesn't know what to make of it—someone who looks like  _ that _ shouldn't have problems with staring, right? That makes absolutely no sense. It just adds another question mark to Kyung's ever-growing collection, and he wonders if there would ever be a day where they would all be answered. 

"My room, my rules," Kyung says, scooting in closer so he can throw an arm around Jiho's waist. It's not he fault he can't keep staring; really, it's more of Jiho's fault for being so damn attractive. "Plus, this is my PR shirt from highschool." He pinches the front of the shirt, where the faded logo indicated that Kyung had once played for the Yellow House. "Yours is approximately 80,000 won."

//

“So that’s  _ not _ the shirt to wear next time someone wants to cover me in fake blood and drag me around the floor? Got it,” Jiho replies, sliding his arm around to trace soft circles and lines on Kyung’s back, moving so their legs are intertwined.   


He has never been this  _ intimate _ with anyone before, ever. Yes, sure, there was sex, but that was nothing but a fulfilment of an unavoidable primal urge, nothing but two people getting off together, fueled by nothing but their carnal desires. Kyung was – Kyung is different in every way. Even when they’d been pressing each other up against walls in the change room, breathing heavily and touching every inch of skin they could – well, there was something more to that, wasn’t there? There’s been something more to it ever since they bumped into each other, and he doesn’t think that will change now. Still, it’s an entirely new experience to be in bed with someone, embracing them… He realises he might like it.

//

Kyung's about to reply when Jaehyo grumbles out a slurred but indignant, "Shut the fuck up, assholes," that has Kyung snorting and laughing into Jiho's chest. He hasn't felt giddy like this in forever; the last time he'd been in a relationship, it'd been more of a progression from  _ friends _ to a  _ why not date? _ What did that one dude say in Kyung's intro to literature class? Not with a bang, but with a fizzle, and out went the longest relationship of Kyung's life. 

This, though? Even in silence, their eyes lock onto each other in the dim lighting, and Kyung tries to keep his eyelids open for as long as possible, to freeze this moment in time as long as possible, until he eventually falls asleep. 

He wakes up on instinct, the next morning, and is surprised to find that he's feeling sore in certain places, and that there's a warm weight next to him. Jaehyo's distinct snoring still fills the room, so Kyung at least knows that he's in his dorm and not elsewhere. When he blinks away, he finds himself breathtakingly close to Jiho's still sleeping face and he stops, as if existence itself had halted on its perpetually spinning axis. Fuck. 

He doesn't wake Jiho up, though, merely stares at him for a few more moments, then kisses his forehead in parting and leaves a note and his student cashcard by his bedside table. "Knock yourself out with the superior campus," he scribbles, littering the note with obnoxiously fat hearts. At the bottom, he appends the note with a dark JAEHYO THIS ISN'T FOR YOU, then goes about getting dressed in his Sunday's best.

//

Jiho doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes he immediately bolts upright, sensing he’s in a strange place. He reaches for the knife under his pillow and panics when it’s not there – someone’s stolen his fucking  _ knife, _ someone’s  _ here – _

And then he opens his eyes properly and sees the messy dorm room and  _ remembers _ all at once, the memories filling him like oxygen, making him gasp. Slowly, he gets out of bed and reaches for the knife inside his boot, discarded at the end of Kyung’s bed; it’s stupid of him, he  _ knows _ he’s safe in the dorm, but he needs to have his knife with him, needs to have that safety blanket. His fingers close on the cold metal of the blade and he sighs, relaxing totally.

Now that he’s awake properly, he looks around and sees that both Jaehyo and Kyung are nowhere to be seen. Kyung, he knows, had something on this morning, but he has no idea where Jaehyo’s off to. He spies a note on the beside table and picks it up, reading it quickly and grinning into the empty room. Kyung’s handwriting is messy and hurried, and there’s a little addendum by Jaehyo at the end:  _ gross _ .

He flops back onto the bed and sighs contentedly. He  _ could _ go and explore the campus, but in all honesty he doesn’t have any desire to, and he doesn’t want to spend any more of Kyung’s money than he has already; only one of them in the relationship is a multi-millionaire and it’s not the poor maths student.

Although he  _ really _ could go for some coffee, and it would definitely help his back-story if he was to explore the campus, so he reluctantly gets up and reaches for the hideous shirt, crumpled on the floor. He entertains the idea of stealing one of Kyung’s shirts before realising it just won’t fit – not with the height difference, and all of Jiho’s muscles.    
  
So, leaving Kyung’s cash card on the bedside table, he checks he has his wallet and leaves the dorm room, shutting the door carefully behind him. 

//

“Is Park Kyung  _ not listening in church? _ ” Taeil’s voice chimes over his shoulder in a loud, stage whisper, causing the lady in front of them—a new face, Kyung registers almost absently—to turn around and glare daggers at them.

“Shut up,” Kyung instructs, as he thumbs through his inbox. He’d expected a text from Jiho in the morning, and he can’t help but regret that he hadn’t woken Jiho up that morning. At least he’d know what Jiho’s plans were, or if he was interested in sticking around. “I’m surprised you’re even here today.” Taeil elbows him and it  _ hurts _ because the bastard has the muscle mass of a man at least twice his height. But even that pain can’t overcome the wishy-washy sort of indecision that Kyung’s felt since the sermon’d started.

Across the pulpit, his father glances over at him, and Kyung quickly straightens up. This isn’t like him at all; he’s usually upfront and straight to the point—do you like me? Yes or no. There’s no reason to overcomplicate it, but the elusive way Jiho’d behaved makes Kyung wary of taking the straight route. It shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. A detour’s only going to take up more time, and Kyung’d frankly much rather spend that whole time sucking Jiho’s dick. 

_ Up yet, sleeping beauty? You look much nicer when you’re asleep _ , Kyung texts rapidly, with Taeil  _ still _ looking over his shoulder.  _ What about lunch today? You can treat!  _ Then he sends it before he can even think twice.

//

Jiho’s just settled himself in the coffee shop with his long black when his phone vibrates with a text, and dread settles around him. He sets the coffee cup down on the table and sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. For once he  _ doesn’t _ want to go to work. Killing is of no interest to him in his current mood; he wants to roll around in bed with Kyung some more – he wants to  _ live _ .

But then again he knows what they do to agents who stop responding or try to disappear, so he pulls his phone out of his pocket warily, already standing up, ready to leave – and grins like a fuckwit at his phone when he sees who the text is from. It’s  _ Kyung _ , not work, and he has never been more relieved in his life. 

_ I got your note :) _ he replies, his fingers moving clumsily over the keys – he’s still not used to a touch screen after so many years of an old-fashioned keyboard.  _ Lunch… sounds great.  _ He sits back down on the seat heavily, chewing on a ragged thumbnail absentmindedly.  _ How’s your family thing? _

//

“He types like a grandpa,” Taeil’s voice comes, far too near to Kyung’s ear for it to be even comfortable. Then again, they’ve never had cause to hide anything from each other, having grown up right in each other’s backyards. The first time Kyung’d kissed someone was Jaehyo (a mistake, if ever there was one, and one Kyung’s mother refused to let go of), the first time Kyung’d driven a vehicle was Taeil’s first beat-up scooter, the first time Kyung’d fucked someone—well, that had ended up in screaming and way too many eyes on Kyung’s bare ass. 

“Are you projecting?” Kyung shoots back, quickly tapping back a reply.  _ Better if you were here, _ he writes, as Taeil snorts softly,  _ there’re a few restaurants near campus. Why don’t you choose? _ They’re doing all this backwards—the fucking, first, the undeniable first spark of attraction, and then the slow exploration of each other, because Kyung has no idea what kind of food Jiho might like. God knows he may be allergic to rice, it’s not like they’ve had time to discuss these things.

“God, you’re so whipped,” Taeil mutters, shaking his head as he clicks his tongue like some sort of disapproving vodka aunt. Kyung shoots him a baleful look and smacks his thigh, willing him to shut up. “Does Jaehyo know about this?” 

“Jaehyo thinks we’re cute,” Kyung declares. Because he should.

//

He stares down at his phone, his heart sinking. Food has never really been a priority to him – it’s something he stuffs down his throat to keep him alive, but not much else. He’s probably gone weeks if not months surviving off nothing but McDonalds before, because it was easy and cheap and close to his old apartment. But still, if Kyung wants him to pick, he’ll pick the best damned restaurant in the area.

_ Sure, _ he replies, finishing the last of his coffee and standing up, heading for the exit to spill back onto the campus, throwing his cup in the bin as he goes.  _ When can I expect you? _

Slipping his phone in his back pocket, he scans the area thoroughly – well, as thoroughly as he can, considering it’s so bright outside he has to squint. The fact that there are so many people around has him on his toes, nervous; anything could happen, any one of these people could be sent here to kill him. So, his senses on high alert, ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger, he heads off in no particular direction, thinking of the way he walked to get to Kyung’s dorm last night. He’s sure he went down a street with a few restaurants on it, so he changes course and begins walking that way, the sun overhead telling him he’s heading due east. 

His fingers twitch as a man brushes past him, and he resists the urge to grab his knife because he knows that’s a bad idea in public, but  _ still _ . He spends so much time indoors that he’s sort of forgotten what it’s like to be out in daylight like this; the cover of night is much safer to him. At any moment there could be snipers looking down their scopes at him, lining up the shot, their finger on the trigger –

He ducks into the first convenience store he passes, his heart racing. He wasn’t this nervous with Kyung before, so what the fuck has changed?    
  
The answer comes to him at once: now he has something to live for. He didn’t, back then. That scares him, it  _ terrifies _ him to even think about it so he brushes it away and looks around the shop, his eyes falling on a rack of glasses sitting next to the counter.  _ Sunglasses _ . Sunglasses will help because he’ll be a bit disguised, and it will allow him to see his surroundings better. He wishes he’d brought his jacket with him to cover his tattoos – which are distinctive, which allow him to stick in the mind of every passerby who sees him – but sunglasses will have to do, as it’s all he’s got right now.

He lets out his breath shakily and walks over to start examining the sunglasses, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

//

_ Think of me really hard and I’ll appear _ , Kyung replies, without an ounce of shame, though Taeil has made enough disgusted, choked embarrassed sounds for the both of them.  _ But, more realistically, 45 mins? Just tell me where. _ Typically, he’d hang back to help his parents speak to the congregation and clear out. But today, he can hand that mantle to his little brother. 

It’s a hot day out, Kyung can just tell from the way the sunlight filters in from the frosted windows that line the sides of the room. The beams of light sparkle, a little, and Kyung thinks of Jiho, though that isn’t really news—he’s been doing nothing but thinking of Jiho from the moment they met. It’s evidently something that’s obvious on his face, because the moment their sermon ends, his father arches an eyebrow and dismisses him.

“Need a ride back?” Taeil asks, in the most flippant way possible, eyes slanting towards Kyung’s phone that’d remained strangely quiet. “I mean, if you’re rushing to get laid—”

Kyung slaps a hand over Taeil's mouth because even if he played a little fast and loose with people that he chose to sleep with, this wasn’t the right time and certainly not the right place to disclose that kind of information. It’s a good thing that the crowd’s mostly dispersing, so not even the judgemental woman from earlier was paying any heed to them. 

“You just need a reason to get out of the lunch gathering,” Kyung accuses, but even as he says that, he’s tugging on Taeil’s sleeve to lead him out into the carpark, where Taeil’s obnoxiously loud motorbike was parked. The only thing that measured up to that were the obnoxiously loud tattoos Taeil sported, and really, the juxtaposition between Taeil’s face and Taeil’s everything else was startling.

“I don’t hear you refusing,” Taeil returns, swinging his leg over his bike so he can retrieve the helmets, handing one over to Kyung. Kyung slides the dome over his head and fastens it as he’s finally able to flip Taeil the finger, checking his phone for any new messages.


	4. Chapter 4

Within half an hour, Jiho manages to find a quaint little dumpling restaurant a ten minute walk away from Kyung’s dorm and parks himself on the kerb out the front of it, shooting off a text to Kyung with the address. He almost wishes he’d picked up smoking just so he had something to do with his hands; as it is he fiddles with a thread on his jeans nervously, staring at the world that’s oddly tinted thanks to his new sunglasses.

He hears the motorbike before he sees it, and turns his head to see Kyung waving widely from the back of it, his arm wrapped around the waist of a short, stocky man with tattoos up and down his arms. Jiho’s first thought is  _ biker? _ which is dangerous because he’s killed many, many bikers – but no, as the motorbike pulls up in front of him he can see this man wears a smile that’s too naive for any biker gang member and he relaxes, getting off the kerb and waiting awkwardly as Kyung clambers off the bike. He doesn’t know what the protocol is, still, in front of strangers – and this man is, indeed, a stranger. It’s like Jaehyo all over again so he just freezes helplessly as Kyung walks up to him.

//

“I can’t believe you  _ screamed _ ,” Taeil complains, just as Jiho approaches with a wide, obviously painful grin on his face. Kyung raises his eyebrow, unsure if he should introduce them. There’s something about Jiho and new people that he’s starting to suss out is a pattern, and not because Jaehyo looks more or less like a frazzled hobo. Taeil looks perfectly presentable, despite his tattoos and tendencies to make dangerous swooping turns on a godamn motorbike. 

Kyung wrestles his helmet off and shoves it a little forcefully at Taeil as he says, “Fuck you, I don’t have a  _ death wish. _ ” 

“It’s not even dangerous!” Taeil insists, but Kyung pulls a face as he saunters over to Jiho’s side. All of a sudden, he’s tongue-tied, and he can understand why Jiho had been wearing that frozen look on his face. And if it weren’t for his awareness that Taeil was watching the exchange with distinct bemusement, he would’ve probably kick-started with an easy  _ hi, how are you, how’s your day, would you like to move into my dorm maybe? _

But because Taeil’s watching, all Kyung can offer is an easy, “Missed me?” and then cups the back of Jiho’s head so he can kiss him squarely on the lips, grinning against Jiho’s mouth with the hopes that Jiho gets what’s going on.

//

He makes a little noise of surprise low in his throat when Kyung kisses him, but his reaction is instant and uncontrollable; he slides his arm around Kyung’s waist and pulls him closer so they’re flush together, feeling Kyung’s grin against his lips. Apparently this is okay because Kyung draws it out more than what is strictly polite, his hand tugging Jiho’s hair gently.

“Yes,” he gasps when Kyung pulls back, because it’s the only thing he  _ can _ say.

Kyung’s eyes are twinkling in amusement and he smiles happily, his earlier apprehensive mood evaporating at the sight of him. Over Kyung’s shoulder he spies the other man leaning on his bike, staring at them amusedly with his arms folded. Buoyant and floating on Kyung’s kiss, he nods at the stranger as a greeting. “Hello,” he says, a little breathlessly.

//

Kyung’d meant for it to be a joke, a sort of way to make Taeil feel uncomfortable for being insufferable on their way here and for making fun of Kyung’s legitimate concerns that he was going to  _ die _ , but once he gets caught up in the kiss, he’s immediately swept away. (If a little part of him regrets asking Jiho out to lunch instead of staying in, then he can only blame how godamn addicting Jiho is on himself.) 

“Don’t fraternize with the enemy,” Kyung instructs, as he slips his palm against Jiho’s, squeezing warmly, just as Taeil says, “Hi, I see Kyung’s in good hands. Not that he needs any help.” Everything is new, even the simple act of hand-holding doesn’t just seem like that. Kyung would be worried about falling so hard so fast if he wasn’t busy trying to catch his breath instead. 

“I’m leaving first,” Taeil says, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to stick around for introductions. “And hey, you.” He’s addressing Jiho with this one, completely pretending that Kyung isn’t standing  _ right there _ wearing a dopey smile on his face. “Don’t forget to use protection!”

//

Jiho just stands there, the grin plastered to his face, as the man gets on his motorbike and roars away quick as he can, leaving Jiho confused, turned on, and – wait, when did he end up holding Kyung’s hand?

He looks down at Kyung, standing at his side, and marvels at how simple and easily they fit together like this, like his hand was made to fit in Kyung’s; he nearly snorts at the stupid cheesy throwaway line straight from a romance novel, but he just accepts it because it’s true. He would, honestly and truly, be happy to just stand here like this for the rest of time, their fingers intertwined, Kyung’s thumb stroking his skin. 

But then he remembers that this is all a fucking lie and he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve  _ any _ of it and if Kyung knew the truth he’d walk out of Jiho’s life without a backwards glance and take Jiho’s heart with him – because he’s stolen it now, there’s no point pretending otherwise – and that thought fucking horrifies him so he leans down and kisses Kyung  _ properly _ , not caring that they’re in public, not caring about anything at all except absorbing everything, filing it away for the moment that it all comes crashing down.    
  
“Shall we eat?” he asks a moment later, leaning his forehead against Kyung’s and letting his eyes flutter shut, feeling the sun hit his face, drinking it all in.

//

“Yeah,” Kyung answers, a little breathlessly, and not for the kissing either. No matter how many times he tells himself that this is stupid, that he’s logical and rational and little actions like these don’t really make sense, in the grand scheme of things, that they don’t  _ really _ mean anything. But his heart lurches at triple time, arguing otherwise. He waits for several more moments, then tugs at Jiho’s hand in the direction of the restaurant Jiho’d texted him about. “C’mon, it’s this one, right?”

The inside of the restaurant is cool, a stark difference from the sweltering heat outside, but standing next to Jiho makes Kyung feel like the sunlight’d never left his skin. They grab a table for two, and Kyung requests a window seat to wish the waitress smiles obligingly, gaze shifting down to their joined hands, then back up again. Kyung makes a big show of pulling out the seat for Jiho, complete with a sweeping gesture and a bow that has their waitress giggling behind the menu. 

She leaves them alone after asking if they’d like to purchase a drink, and then it’s just the two of them again. Kyung wonders if it’d be bad form for him to start playing footsy, right now, given that the table didn’t allow for much privacy. He figures he can settle for something in between and stretches his legs up out to bump against Jiho’s. Then he opens the menu, but only to ask, “So how’s my campus? Any thoughts of transferring yet?”

//

Jiho laughs at that. Kyung will construe it as laughing at the thought because he’s so loyal to  _ his _ university – but in reality he’s laughing because he’ll never be able to go to university, not in this lifetime, at least. Crowds petrify him because he stands out, being tall and blonde and tattooed, and he knows for a fact he’s on more than just a few hit lists. “It’s nice, I  _ suppose _ ,” he replies doubtfully, propping his chin on his hand as he flicks through the menu. “I couldn’t ever transfer to an inferior campus, though.”

That earns him a kick on the shin and he laughs again, propping up the menu so he can hide behind it as he giggles. When did he turn into this person? Someone who lied and laughed in the same breath? God, he thought he knew who he was, but then Kyung came along and turned everything on its head and he feels like he’s drowning slowly. “So, what are you in the mood for?”

//

“You,” Kyung immediately shoots back unthinkingly, wearing the widest, most sincere grin possible. It’s not like he needs a filter when he’s with Jiho, anyway, they’ve already thrown out all semblance of dignity and pride when they’d all but fucked in a men’s changing room. “Oh, you’re talking about the food?” 

It’s ridiculous how hard he’s finding to focus on the menu when what he wants to do instead is ask Jiho about every single item of food. Do you like it? Have you eaten it? Do you think  _ I _ would like it? It’s weird, when the feelings get there before the knowledge does, but it’s new and exciting and Kyung’s going to ride it out as long as it lasts. 

He ends up picking an order at random and persuades Jiho to purchase the same thing, only at five times the level of spiciness. “You look good when you sweat,” Kyung says, but he’s wearing the world’s biggest shit-eating grin so his intentions aren’t quite pure. It’s only halfway through the meal that he realizes that there’s a tall, lean man at the corner of the restaurant, just openly staring at them. Try as he might, he can’t place a name to the face, so he nudges Jiho’s foot and nods in that direction, asking, “Is that someone you know?”

//

Jiho’s got a dumpling halfway to his mouth when Kyung nudges him and asks him if there’s someone he knows, making his blood run cold because there’s only  _ one reason _ that someone would be staring at  _ him _ . He puts down his chopsticks slowly, carefully, and turns, reaching for the knife in his boot, feeling his fingers close on the handle, ready to throw it across the room and impale the stranger, when he locks eyes with the man he’s about to kill and –

“Motherfucker,” he breathes, freezing in an awkward position, his knee drawn up to his chest. 

He doesn’t know the man’s name – that’s the one thing they’re told never to give away, not to anyone – but they worked together, once, a long time ago now, back when Jiho was still new and naive. He, too, has his hand reaching into the inside of his jacket where, if Jiho’s memory serves him correctly (and it always does), he carries around a glock 9mm engraved with the letter  _ M _ . Jiho narrows his eyes at him and jerks his head towards the door. He doesn’t mind getting shot (it’s not so bad when it’s happened before), but not here, not in front of Kyung.

“Excuse me,” he mutters to Kyung, catching the fleeting look of – what? Of horror? Worry? He realises a simple ‘excuse me’ isn’t going to do, so looks down at the table and racks his brain for an excuse. “My cousin,” he finally blurts out, trying to convey with his eyes how this is bad news. Let Kyung think it’s because he’s about to be outed or whatever, but he has bigger fish to fry right now. If this man has malicious intentions, Kyung’s life is in direct danger, and that’s all he cares about.

He turns his back on the man, the hairs on the back of his neck rising – expecting a shot to ring out across the restaurant at any time – and heads out the door of the restaurant, drawing his knife as soon as he’s out of view of Kyung and in the sun. The door opens after him and he grabs the man by the throat, whirling him around and pushing him up against a wall, the tip of the knife pressing into the flesh of his skin, drawing blood. He uses his other hand to grab the gun holstered underneath the man’s jacket, seeing the engraved  _ M  _ on the handle – some things never change – and throws it over his shoulder, wrapping his hand straight back around the man’s throat. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, pushing the knife in further, making it clear he will not hesitate to kill if the answer isn’t good enough.

The man raises an eyebrow and  _ smirks _ , his dimples creasing his cheeks, making him look innocent. “Nothing, I swear to fucking god. I saw you, I recognised you, I followed you. That’s it,” he rasps out, going red as Jiho tightens his grip.

“Fucking bullshit,” Jiho spits, getting in his face, cracking the man’s head back against the wall.

The man coughs, although it’s hard considering Jiho is slowly cutting off his oxygen supply. “I swear. You can take this up the chain. Ring them up. They’ll tell you they don’t know anything about it  _ because I’m not trying to kill you.” _

He’s telling the truth, Jiho realises instantly. He can just read it, one of those feelings he gets in his gut sometimes. Those feelings are what have kept him alive for so long, so he reluctantly steps away, watching as the man doubles over, coughing. “Get the fuck out of here,” he mutters, spinning his knife in his fingers, kicking the man’s gun back to him.

//

Kyung can’t believe he’d just been served the flimsiest excuse in the history of the world, and he worked with  _ kids _ during his downtime. He’d seen everything of the my-dog-ate-my-homework variety and even the my-fifth-grandma-passed-away type excuses, but nothing quite as ludicrous as this one. And if he’s being honest with himself—and Park Kyung always is, brutally so—then no other excuse had quite riled him up like this one. Only, it isn’t anger he feels, it’s a lurching sort of disappointment, a leap of faith he’d taken into the darkness, only to discover the ledge he’d thought was there wasn’t there at all. And now he’s stuck free-falling, with Jiho quickly disappearing beyond the door, with Jiho’s purported  _ cousin _ trailing after him.   
  
He’s not sure what to do with himself, but he knows that he hates that the first emotion that comes rising to the forefront is concern. Concern with  _ what _ , Kyung had no idea, partly because he doesn’t know who the man is, and partly because he doesn’t know who Jiho is. This could be a loanshark or an ex, as far as Kyung was able to discern, which is to say not at all. He wouldn’t even have a  _ problem _ if it were an ex, because that’s what exes were, right? Past tense. Chapter closed. It’s Jiho’s apparent need to hide him away that’s the problem, here. It’s Jiho thinking that this is something worth keeping secret that has Kyung bewildered.    
  
He briefly considers leaving his seat to join them outside, but squashes that thought quickly enough. It’s not his place, would probably never be his place, considering the number of black holes there appeared to be on Woo Jiho: Mysterious Laundromat Man.    
  
“Boyfriend troubles?” comes the waitress’ voice, breaking through his reverie. He realizes he’d been poking and pushing at a dumpling, until it was more or less mush soaked in vinegar.    
  
“I wouldn’t exactly call it that, just yet,” Kyung answers, plastering on his best smile as he turns up to face her. Turns out he hadn’t quite lost his touch, like he’d assumed he had when Jiho’d asked what was wrong on the roof last night, because she returns him a warm smile of her own.    
  
“I dunno, he looks like he’s pretty into you,” she points out as she wipes down the table next to theirs, her grin sharpening into an amused one.    
  
“Yeah, it’s definitely a two-way thing,” Kyung tells her without adding that he feels more like he’s been dropped in the middle of unknown terrain with nothing but his instincts to lead him out. And he became a math major for a reason; instinct was never quite his thing. She winks as she folds up her tablecloth and Kyung instantly feels like a fraud.   
  
//    
  
The first thing Jiho sees when he walks back into the restaurant, dragging a hand through his hair, is Kyung flirting openly with the waitress. It stings, oh, god, it stings – but it's not even half of what he deserves after what he's just done, all the lies he has told and all the lies he has to tell.   
  
He probably looks like death – pale and sweaty, like he's just been sick. Which he has, actually – he'd retched up his dumplings outside, shaking and crying, the adrenaline wearing off. Even now his hands are still shaking. He stills them as he sits down in the chair heavily, opens his mouth –   
  
To what? To ask if Kyung is being petty by flirting, to try and get back at him? It's not like Jiho has any  _ reason _ to be jealous, because they haven't spoken about what they are or even what the rules are, but he can't help it. Can he ask if Kyung believes him? Apologise?   
  
"I'm sorry," he begins heavily, picking up his chopsticks and staring down at the dumplings, his appetite gone. "That was... He..."   
  
He trails off, closing his eyes briefly, committing to the lie. "He warned me about being seen in public. With you. A guy. He threatened to tell my parents..." He opens his eyes and looks at Kyung, gives him a weak smile. "I told him to fuck off."   
  
He wants  _ so badly _ to reach across the table and hold Kyung's hand but he doesn't because his shitty excuse has created so much distance between them and he  _ hates _ it, hates himself for doing this.   
  
//   
  
"You could help move it along," she says, her expression growing increasingly salacious. Kyung decides he likes her; hard not to, when she's evidently giving tips to random patrons as to how they should woo their date. More importantly, she's helping in distracting him from his wandering thoughts. "Get some alcoholic desserts. I recommend the  _ flaming _ lava cake on page 17."   
  
Kyung laughs, shaking his head, because that's not the part that he has a problem with, no. Surprisingly, getting laid is the easy option, here.    
  
"It's 2 in the afternoon and you're suggesting we get tipsy? Is this management approved behavio—" Kyung stops mid-sentence, unable to stop himself from staring when Jiho slips back into the restaurant, looking ten shades paler than when he'd left.    
  
"I should go back to work," the waitress says, clearly sensing trouble, but by then Kyung's no longer listening to her. He can't stop staring, his mind working through all the possibilities of what could've possibly transpired outside that could've rendered calm, collected Jiho into  _ this _ . He's so caught up with his own thoughts that he barely even registers Jiho's latest excuse.    
  
Right off the bat, he can discern that it's not quite the truth. The story makes sense, of course it does, but Jiho's shaky, unnerved, closes his eyes for a brief second like he can't look at Kyung because he's hiding something. And that hurts—not only because he's lying, but because Kyung's seen people like Jiho; all the stories he's mentioned so far? The fear of his family finding out that he's an art student, the fact that he currently looks like he's about to throw up all over his dumplings just from confronting his  _ cousin _ alone? Kyung feels a cold dread in his chest, but it isn't for himself.    
  
"You alright?" Kyung asks, leaning over and ducking his head so he can scrutinise Jiho's face. The question is mostly facetious, honestly. "There's a toilet, out back." Kyung points his thumb at the corridor behind the cash register. "Do you want me to come with?"    
  
In the end, he can only ask questions that are superfluous. They're not there yet, if they'll ever get  _ there _ in the first place. Because that's all their relationship is, and perhaps ever will be: shallow.   
  
//   
  
"Too late," Jiho mutters, jerking his head at the door. "There was an emergency evac of my stomach contents out there."   
  
He looks at the dumplings again and put his chopsticks down shakily, taking a long drink of water from his glass instead. He feels Kyung's eyes on him, hot and prickly, and wonders if he's fucked this up entirely.   
  
"I'm sorry," he mutters, hanging his head in his hands.    
  
He wants to rail against the world and all its injustices; he wants to smash his bowl on the floor and scream and tear at his flesh to try and quell the anguish he feels because he realises, right here in this damn restaurant with the predatory waitress boring a hole between his shoulderblades, that he's falling for Park Kyung – and that thought breaks his heart in two, a cleave right down the middle.    
  
Because what is he? A liar? A murderer? A fool? An all around pathetic excuse for a human being? Or, even better, option E – all of the above. Kyung doesn't deserve him, not like this, not ever.   
  
//   
  
Kyung doesn’t know what to do. Or, he does, typically,  _ ordinarily _ , but this isn’t just any situation. Jiho isn’t part of the congregation, or a kid from his dorm room floor that’s a little too stressed out and a little too trigger happy with liberally dosing his red bull with alcohol. This is  _ Woo Jiho _ , and Kyung’d started the slow process of signing away his feelings to the man.    
  
“You don’t have to say so—” he starts, then stops, realizing that Jiho does have cause to be sorry, and saying anything otherwise would be detrimental to what Kyung was trying to achieve. If only his friends could see him now—tongue-tied and awkward and feeling at a loss with himself. His eyes dart over Jiho’s hands—and the way they shake, like Jiho can’t stand to be right there—and Jiho’s head, at the crown of blonde hair still  _ glowing _ in the sunlight despite their circumstances, and he makes a snap decision.   
  
“Come on,” he says, fishing for his wallet to slap the exact amount of change for their food on the table, plus tips. And then he’s getting up to gently pry Jiho’s hand away from his face to hold it in his own. “You look like you need some Park Kyung TLC.”    
  
He’s no longer registering the words that’re spewing out of him—they’re just the standard Park Protocol for when things go to shit. Distractions always work. And then some heart-to-heart, and then a nice hug to round it all off. People were predictable, and for all the randomness of human nature, they walk the same familiar path each and every time.   
  
//   
  
Jiho nearly makes a snarky comment as they leave –  _ why don't you go give some TLC to the waitress instead? _ – but shuts his mouth again, realising he is in  _ no _ position to comment on that, or indeed anything to do with Kyung's love life. Just because they fucked once – well. It doesn't mean shit.   
  
He blinks as the sunlight hits his face, untucking his sunglasses from his shirt and slipping them on, going through his regular area checks. The man – who Jiho knows as M – is nowhere to be seen, but still he feels nervous and sick.   
  
Kyung takes the lead, walking with purposeful strides, Jiho following miserably in his wake, clasping onto Kyung's hand like a child. Fuck. He feels so – so helpless, like he's trapped on a path that is no longer changeable. What he really wants to do is fuck Kyung so hard that he forgets about everything else in the world; that is  _ not _ a viable option right now (hell, he may have just blown his chances at getting  _ anything _ ever again) so he just follows Kyung.   
  
"I'm sorry," he breathes again, so quietly that he's sure Kyung won't hear him, his words being whisked away by the wind.   
  
//   
  
Kyung wants to say that Jiho doesn’t need to apologise to him; they technically don’t owe anything to each other. Plus, Jiho had been the one who’d just thrown up the entire contents of his stomach, not Kyung. He’s sorry enough as it is, without having to have the obligation of trying to ask Kyung for an empty forgiveness.   
  
So he asks, “Why are you apologizing?” in the breeziest way possible, sliding his fingers in between Jiho’s to squeeze his palm with some semblance of reassurance. It’s hard to give reassurance when you weren’t quite sure what the fuck was going on, and he highly doubted that asking if Jiho’s running away from the snares of his unseen demons would actually earn him an answer. Once bitten, twice shy; Kyung isn’t going to ask again.    
  
“I mean, you ruined lunch… but you know what?” He grins—a multi-mega watt, red carpet type smile—up at Jiho and swings their hands a little. “The dumplings were shit anyway.” He keeps his eyes on Jiho because he already knows the area surrounding the campus like the back of his hand, just as he knows that he can take a shortcut through the greenery to make their way to the library. It’s quiet, the sudden canopy barricading them from the sounds of city life, and the jogging path is largely deserted so it’s just the two of them again.   
  
//   
  
Jiho actually stumbles when Kyung dials his smile up to eleven. He can't help it; Kyung just makes his knees go weak. Recovering, he smiles back, the weight on his shoulders lifting slightly. It's hard to be depressed when Kyung looks like  _ that _ , the dappled sunlight making patterns on his skin, making him look luminous.   
  
"Liar," he replies, because the dumplings really were quite good.    
  
They walk in silence for a while, Jiho feeling his bad mood start to dissipate; the path they're on is beautiful, Kyung is by his side, his palm warm in Jiho's – all is right with the world. At least he can lie to himself like this without a guilty conscience.   
  
"Where are we going?" he asks, breaking the quiet.   
  
//   
  
“It’s a secret,” Kyung sing-songs, and stops himself just in time from saying ‘you have yours, and I have mine’, because he’s not  _ that _ much of a dick. Besides, Jiho’d just started smiling again, and Kyung will take whatever he can get. Which, he’s aware sounds pathetic, but right here and now? He can’t find it in himself to care.   
  
“‘sides, we’re here,” Kyung points out, swinging their joint hands even higher, to point in the direction of the library. They’d passed the back gate of the campus when they’d exited the forest, and now more and more people were starting to filter in around them. “Before you ask, I spend a lot of time here. I know what I’m doing.”   
  
Kyung’d pulled more than one all-nighter at this place, built high on glass and an impenetrable sort of silence. It’s almost suffocating, at times, and if it weren’t for Jaehyo’s constant company, he’s pretty sure he’d have been banned from the place for doing something weird. It seemed like the right place to bring Jiho, who seemed to be using his sunglasses like some sort of douche-themed shield. He gets it; while Kyung’d never been the kind to shy from social contact, he’d seen Taeil retreat further and further into his shell until he could barely find himself.   
  
So he leads Jiho through the maze of shelves and tables filled to the brim with students poring over their books and up the stairs, each floor growing decreasingly less populated until they reach what seems to be the top floor of the library, where the books seemed the mustiest and the most untouched. From here on, it’s easy to locate the movable shelf leading to a small crawlspace that, from the outside, looked like one of the tall, jutting windows.    
  
It’s quiet here, once the he helps Jiho up (completely unnecessary, as it turned out) and tugs the shelf back close leaving only the slightest gaps for them to view the library with. The crawl space is surprisingly clean, and Kyung actually finds some of his notes lying by the window.   
  
"So," Kyung starts, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers in a way he hopes looks too serious to be taken seriously, "talk to me."   
  
//   
  
Jiho doesn’t want to talk. He wants to curl up into a ball and cry, or hurl himself out the window so he doesn’t have to  _ sit _ here and share his feelings; something he was never good at even  _ before _ he joined the Organisation. He’s about to open his mouth and brush it off, deflect, even distract Kyung by pulling him in for a kiss – and oh, his fingers twitch at the thought of that – but he stops. 

No.

Kyung deserves to know. Not the fact that he works for the Organisation – that he can never tell. But he deserves to know about Jiho’s life (generally miserable), about his favourite colour (red), about what pets he had growing up (his mother had a dog) and who his best friend was in primary school (no one). He’s already pushed the boundaries of his secrets long enough, and he knows that Kyung’s patience is wearing thin very fast; Jiho is charming, but not charming enough to remain an enigma for this long, not when they’re moving quickly like this.

So, taking a deep breath, he reaches for Kyung’s hand and intertwines their fingers delicately, not sure if this touch is allowed after his transgression on the restaurant. Keeping his eyes on their hands – Kyung’s fingers are slightly shorter than his, the nails filed short, but his skin oh-so soft – he swallows. “What do you want to know?” Looking back up at Kyung, he smiles gently. “Ask me anything. I’m an open book.” 

//

_ Yeah, but the book’s in goddamn sanskrit _ , Kyung doesn’t say aloud, because Kyung will more than gladly take anything Jiho can give, even if it feels like he’s asking for scraps at the end of the meal, though that’s not quite it either.  _ Jiho’s not obliged to _ , Kyung has to keep reminding himself. The sex’d been great, thus far, and anything else beyond that was trial and error, still. Kyung’s a methodical kinda guy, a step 5, draw your conclusion from your findings type person, so he knows where this will go if he keeps meeting a dead end. Doesn’t mean it won’t frustrate him. Doesn’t mean it won’t break his heart.

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” Kyung teases, firmly grasping Jiho’s hand with his. His palm’s more hot than warm, but then again, that applies to everything about Jiho—Kyung has to stop that train of thought before it goes speeding out of control and he finds himself on a trip with no return. “Let’s see…” 

He pauses, making a show out of thinking as he plays with Jiho’s fingers contemplatively and realizes that he’s drawing a big, fat blank. Not because there’s nothing he wants to ask, but because he doesn’t know where to fucking start. He wants to know every last detail, from the first time Jiho had his first kiss, to the last time he’d eaten a donut, to what he  _ thinks _ about donuts in general. Then there are the more tricky questions, the ones that Kyung has to keep for himself because he knows that that way lies silence.

“… when was the last time you punched someone?” Kyung ends up asking. “Don’t look at me like that, you almost kicked my ass the first time we met, so I don’t believe you’ve never been in a fight all your life.”

//

Jiho has to think about that one, because in all honesty he doesn’t really punch people a lot. Killing them is what he’s getting paid to do, not rough them up; what’s the point if he has no vested interest in these people’s lives? But still, not long before he’d walked into the laundromat, there  _ was _ that time at a bar…

He catches Kyung’s fingers in his own and brings them to his lips, kissing every knuckle slowly. “About three months before we met…” he begins, seeing the surprise on Kyung’s face. “I was at a bar, when a fight broke out in front of me. It was typical macho bullshit, you know, getting in each other’s faces and stuff when one of them just snapped. There was a girl caught in the middle – her boyfriend was one of the guys getting punched, I guess. Someone caught her with an elbow, so I stepped in to, I don’t know, help?” He’s making himself out to be a lot nobler than he was intending to. In reality, he’d seen red when the girl went down, even though he didn’t know her; who the fuck elbows a girl who’s just defending herself? He shrugs, tracing a circle on Kyung’s palm with the tip of his finger. “It ended up in a brawl. I had a black eye for a week.”

He leans forward and smiles. “Am I allowed to ask you questions, too? Or is this a one-sided thing?”

//

They’re back in the swing of things again, the easy back and forth that had Kyung coming back for more in the first place. It’s like this that it’s easy to forget everything that had transpired in the past hour. But Kyung’s not sure he wants to remember; is it not easier to just drop it and move on? Wasn’t there some dude who once said que sera sera? In light of how easy everything else is, that genuinely seemed like the most attractive option.

“One of your eyes does look smaller than the other,” Kyung says, as he grips Jiho’s chin to turn it left to right, then vice versa, eyebrows furrowing with his mock examination. “Makes you look a little unhinged. But, y’know, tough. Very intimidating.” 

Then he’s raising himself off of his ass to press soft kisses at the top of each of Zico’s eyelids, sitting back down with a wide and proud grin. Easy, easy.  _ Too _ easy. 

“What do you want to know about me? You’ve seen my bed, seen  _ two _ of my friends… uh, you’ve seen how I live…” Kyung shrugs, leaning back against the wall as he glances out out the window with an affected sigh, then back at Jiho again. “Go ahead.”

//

“Favourite colour,” Jiho blurts, more of a statement than a question. 

He can’t help but notice how beautiful Kyung looks like this, with the light streaming in the window, hitting the side of his face and casting shadows, making him look like a painting. For the first time in years his fingers itch and he wants to  _ draw _ , wants to put this moment down on paper, wants to have something concrete that he can hold onto as proof that this really happened – because right now he feels like he’s dreaming, floating; everything is ethereal and celestial.

“Hold that thought,” he says, leaning forward and putting his hand on Kyung’s knee. “Where can I get paper and a pencil? I wanna try something.”

//

“Pencil and paper?” Kyung echoes doubtfully, because they’re in a godamn library—the question should be stupidly facetious, but it isn’t because now Kyung has to scavenge some from an unsuspecting student. “Why? On second thought, don’t tell me.” Kyung pauses to consider; he probably  _ does _ have to steal from an unsuspecting student, but Jiho’s eyes are alight with something Kyung had yet to see before, and he wants to keep that light there for as long as possible. 

“Wait here,” he says, instinctively leaning forward to give Jiho a peck that he only feels slightly embarrassed for on his way out. Here he is, six days down the road, acting like they’re in the first stages of a long-awaited for relationship. He’s been here so many times that he can practically make his way down blindfolded. Once he’s on the floor with slightly more students, he begins searching for someone who looks friendly enough to lend him a pencil. But the first person his gaze lands on is a dozing student by the corner adjacent to the stairs, so Kyung sneaks on over (much to the curiousity of the other students, though they look too dead on the inside to give a shit) and snags a mechanical pencil. He promises to return it. Sort of.

“Here,” he says, sticking his arm in fist first with a triumph grin on his face. “Ah, shit, paper—oh wait—” he clambers on in a little clumsily this time, knocking his shins on the shelf before he pulls it to a close, then retrieves the stapled sheet of his notes he’d found earlier and holds that out to Jiho “—uh… enjoy?"

//

“Right, okay,” he mutters, twirling the mechanical pencil in his hand, tilting his head to the side, framing Kyung. “Sit like you were before, looking out the window – yeah, like that. Perfect. Don’t move.”

He takes a deep breath and touches the pencil to the surface of the paper, drinking in the lines of Kyung’s face, the way the shadows undulate in waves, the angles and curves all working together to form – well. Something beautiful. His first strokes are hesitant, slow, but soon he finds he gets into a rhythm, his pencil flying across the paper, looking between Kyung and the paper so fast he starts to feel a bit dizzy.

“Can I – ” Kyung starts – but Jiho just grunts, shaking his head.

“No moving,” he mutters, scrutinising the way Kyung’s hair falls just-so over his forehead

He’d forgotten how much he loved this, taking in all the details and replicating them on paper as best he can. Even if he’s a little – okay, a  _ lot _ – rusty, he finds himself smiling as he draws hurriedly, putting the final touches on his drawing and blowing away the eraser dust.

It had only taken around fifteen minutes, but he’s finished with the end result. It’s a pretty damn good replica of how Kyung looks staring out the window; he’s tried to replicate the shadows as best he can, but it’s hard with only a mechanical pencil – if he had a proper set of coloured pencils he could go into much more detail… Anyway.

“Here,” he murmurs shyly, passing the paper to Kyung and feeling a blush rise on his face.

//

Kyung’d been drawn only once in his life before, when Jaehyo had taken his mandatory traditional art class so he’s not new to this sitting still thing (though it’s  _ still _ a bitch, especially when you’d spent the entirety of lunch chugging down coloured mocktails as “a treat” for “being the best friend ever”). What’s different is this: Jiho’s gaze flicking between the sheet of paper and him, Jiho’s mouth hanging slightly apart, Jiho’s brows furrowing just the slightest in concentration, Jiho’s hand arcing this way and that over the paper, Jiho’s warmth radiating from him, drawing Kyung in like some kind of dying man to an oasis. And the knowledge that, in that instant, there’s nothing in Jiho’s world but Kyung. It’s why he keeps trying to glance over—why Jiho keeps going  _ don’t move _ in a short, distracted voice—because he wants to  _ see _ , and looking out of the corner of his eye isn’t enough.

It’s never going to be enough, and he’s realizing that he’s probably screwed if this all goes to shit.

Kyung doesn’t know what Jiho’s doing, though, beyond presumably sketching out Kyung’s face. He’s an art student, so Kyung has to also assume he’s at least good, but he hadn’t expected  _ this _ . 

“Oh,” Kyung says, eyes widening as he falls silent, examining every single inch of the drawing. It’s good, more than good. Kyung doesn’t really have an eye for art, but he can at least tell whether or not something’s drawn true to life. But beyond that, it’s the way Jiho’s drawn him in, soft in the edges with a sort of quiet glow. And just like that, Kyung feels like he’s seeing himself for the first time.

//

All Kyung says is a soft “oh,” and Jiho flushes with embarrassment.

He must hate it, he  _ must _ , because he’s staring at the paper with an unreadable expression on his face and he’s not talking – he’s never seen Kyung rendered speechless before, his mouth hanging open gormlessly. Fuck, he must be a  _ lot _ rustier than he realised if it’s  _ that _ bad that Kyung’s not even saying anything.

“Is it…. Is it that bad?” he whispers, the tips of his ears turning red. “Sorry…”

He wants to leap out of the window he’s so fucking embarrassed,  _ fuck _ . He’s probably blown his cover, too – if it’s that bad, there’s no way that Kyung is going to believe he’s an art student. He starts chewing on his thumbnail nervously, watching as Kyung looks up at him.

//

Kyung’s so caught up in scrutinising every last bit of the drawing that he barely manages to catch what Jiho’d been saying. He’s not that narcissistic. Or, well, he’s as narcissistic as the next person is, and considering he hangs out with Jaehyo almost every day of his life, that bar’s set pretty high. But this is a paper that, when he’d left it behind here three weeks back, hadn’t known the touch of Woo Jiho yet. And now… there’s this. Kyung’s face immortalized in lines and shading and the outpouring of what must be Jiho’s feelings. Kyung hopes it is, anyway. 

“What?” he asks, raising his head and  _ forcibly _ tearing his eyes from the paper, only to see Jiho—red-eared and embarrassed looking, trying to appear smaller than he really is. Which is a ridiculous feat—he might as well try and shrink the entire library into something pocket-sized—and it makes Kyung want to laugh. But for once, he resists the urge to do it, setting aside the paper gently so he can take Jiho’s hand in his, rubbing the ragged edges of his thumb with the soft pad of Kyung’s fingers. 

“No, I—” This time, Kyung does laugh, but it’s a soft, embarrassed sound, his free hand running through his hair as he looks away. Great,  _ now _ he feels self-conscious. “—no one’s ever drawn me before. I mean, yeah, sure, Jaehyo did, once. But it was more…” Like an anatomical drawing; Jaehyo’s good, but his forte lies in photographs. “… clinical. This—I’m—Shit, you’re not real, are you? I’m gonna wake up and find that I’ve fallen asleep right on the tables behind that shelf with a sore neck, right?”

//

Jiho shifts closer and places his hands on either side of Kyung’s face, just holding him, watching as Kyung closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. “I’m real,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

He closes his eyes and transcribes this memory, the way Kyung’s face feels underneath his fingers, so warm and soft; the way the sunlight hits them both, warming the side of his face; the way he can hear the quiet hums and clicks of the air conditioning; the way the window is cool on his shoulder where he leans against it. He wishes now that he hadn’t thrown up because he wants to kiss Kyung more than anything; the gross taste in his mouth prevents him from doing so he just strokes Kyung’s face gently, trying to communicate through touch how much he  _ wants _ to.

//

He feels shaken enough that he has to keep his eyes closed and focus on the warmth of Jiho’s palms on his cheeks, and even that carries the afterthought of the want of perpetuity with it. It’s too much—a paradox of wanting more and not knowing if he  _ can _ take more. 

When his eyes flicker open again, Jiho’s still there, as warm and solid and equally as intimidating as when Kyung’d first seen him. Not in the way that he’s afraid he’s about to be punched in the throat, but in the quick way that Jiho’s gotten a grip on Kyung’s heart. And see, he’s never played fast and loose with his feelings; sleeping together is one thing, this is a whole other game of which Kyung doesn’t know the rules to. 

He gulps, shifting in closer so their thighs alternate between each others, pressed up close enough that Jiho’s forearm pressed against his chest as Kyung curls his arm around it, thumb tracing across the smooth plane of inked skin.

“My favourite colour,” he says softly, addressing Jiho’s question from earlier as his eyes dart across Jiho’s face and the way it’s framed a bright gold, transcendent in the sunlight, “is yellow.”

//

Jiho smiles at that, realising how yellow he must look right now. They’re all tangled up together, a mess of limbs and skin, he feels slightly dizzy from all the contact, so incredibly intimate even though they’re still clothed. As Kyung’s thumb strokes up his forearm, over his tattoo, he breathes out shakily. 

“Your turn,” he says. “I’m sure you have more to ask me.”

He finds himself  _ wanting _ to open up, wanting to share as much of himself with Kyung as he possibly can. Kyung has let him into his life so easily, showing him his friends, his university…   _ everything _ , and it’s only just dawning on Jiho now how much of a closed book he is in comparison.

//

He feels like he’s moving through liquid—slowly, languidly, weightless, as he raises a hand to brush back Jiho’s stray hair. It’s hard to focus when Jiho’s looking at him like  _ that _ , but he pulls a little ways back, licking his lips in a bid to try and remind himself how to grin, how to wear an expression that isn’t just outwardly hopelessly infatuated. 

“Okay,” Kyung says, eyes darting up briefly, and then back down again as he makes an excited noise. He grips Jiho’s wrist gently to move away, finger hooking on the front of Jiho’s shirt to tug at the material, exposing collarbone and ink. 

“This one,” Kyung says, tapping the tip of the tattooed words lightly, “story time?”

//

“Which one?” Jiho asks, moving Kyung’s hands to touch the letters of  _ John the Apostle _ . “This one?” He then moves Kyung’s fingers over to  _ God save Paulus _ . “Or this one?”

Kyung taps  _ God save Paulus _ and he sits back heavily, trying to put into words why he’d gotten it. He’d been eighteen at the time, and everyone knows eighteen-year-olds aren’t exactly known for their decision-making capabilities; he doesn’t exactly regret getting the tattoo, but he’s moved away from the church in the last few years, for obvious reasons. He wouldn’t say he and God had a nasty break-up – he just doesn’t know anymore.

“A few reasons…” he muses, thinking back to that time – was it really five years ago? “My uncle died at the time and his baptismal name was Paulus. I was close to him and took it pretty hard. Sort of rebounded using the church. Getting a tattoo just tied it all together.” 

He shrugs and looks down at his fingers, surprised at himself for revealing the anecdote. He hasn’t thought of his uncle in years, but speaking about him now just relieves the anguish he’d felt at having a father figure ripped away from him, and how he’d tried to soothe that pain through the comforting, familiar routines of the church. 

“I would ask if you’ve got any tattoos, but…” he sweeps his eyes up and down Kyung’s body suggestively, topping it off with a wink. “I’ve seen  _ all _ of you, and you’re clean. So… Do you have any siblings?”

//

Kyung’s about to apologize for Jiho losing his uncle—because how important did someone have to be for you to ink them permanently? how much did Jiho lose, in that time, when Kyung hadn’t known him yet?—but Jiho cuts in first, shooting Kyung a onceover that shouldn’t make him flush as hot as he does in that instant. He makes an indignant sound at the comment, adds Jiho’s tattoo to the short list of things he knows about him, then proceeds to smack Jiho on the shoulder as he rolls his eyes. 

“Ah, siblings?” Kyung echoes, and at once his face brightens up even though his next words are, “I have a younger brother who doesn’t ever clean up after himself, and an older sister who won’t stop nagging.” Pushing his shirt sleeve up, Kyung juts his elbow out in Jiho’s face to show him the long sliver of raised skin, curving right over the knobby bone. “See this? This scar’s called Park Chan after the time he shoved me off a monkey bar and nearly killed me. And this one—” Kyung extends his hand this time, spreading his palm open to stretch at his fingers; this time the scar is a little more faded, a little more thin, but obviously reaches from one finger to the next “—this one’s from when my sister nearly made me slice my fingers off when I was chopping some onions. I can tell you that blood doesn’t make a good marinade.” 

Then he plants his hand on Jiho’s chest, trying to decide what he wants to ask next as his fingers tap a rhythmless beat over  _ Paulus _ . “Your family… what’re they like?” he finally asks, after a beat of hesitation.

//

Jiho opens his mouth to tell Kyung the truth – that his father is absent (so absent, in fact, that Jiho hasn’t spoken to him since he was fifteen) and his mother died when he was nineteen – when he remembers the lie he’s told, the lie that’s keeping everything together, tenuous threads that make him feel like he’s walking on a tightrope. He takes a deep breath and amends the history in his head, changing it to fit the situation.

“I have an older brother, Jiseok. I don’t really see him much ‘cause he lives in Japan now,” he starts. It’s true that Jiseok lives in Japan, or at least did when Jiho last spoke to him. “He escaped from my parents as soon as he was eighteen. They were as strict with him as they are with me – probably even more so. My parents are divorced.” A hot flush runs through him at this lie, knowing that to Kyung this is something too grave to lie about, making it worse somehow. “My mother remarried… and she changed. My stepfather is an ass. She wasn’t so so strict before, but now, thanks to him…”

He pulls off the lie, or at least he thinks he does, considering he’s woven elements of truth in there. The less he has to lie, the better, and even if this sounds like something straight out of a teen movie, it's a plausible situation. He sighs deeply and looks back up at Kyung. “Essentially, my family is shit.”

//

As Kyung listens, he's starting to realize that Jiho's life is the direct opposite of his. Growing up, Kyung'd been so well-adjusted only because his parents wouldn't have it any other way. Problems were on the table topics, and even if they weren't, he could turn to Jaehyo or Taeil who were more than willing to help him where needed. Jiho said he doesn't have friends, lost the one relative he's close with, and is probably estranged with the rest. Kyung's chest does a weird, squeezing thing, but he doesn't want to look pitying. He knows Jiho doesn't need it; what good will it do, anyway? To hear Kyung apologize for something like this. So he just takes Jiho's hands in each of his own, holding on tightly, securely.  _ You've got me now _ , he wants to say, but somehow Kyung thinks that one of him isn't enough to make up for that vacuum in Jiho's life. 

Doesn't mean he can't try, though, doesn't mean he can't tip forward and crane his neck to land a firm kiss to Jiho's forehead, then one to his closed mouth, and he's about to speak when a loud buzzing sound fills the still space between them. 

"Shit, sorry," Kyung says, pulling his phone out of his pocket with the intention to silence. But it's Jaehyo, and Jaehyo never calls him unless something's wrong. "Hello?"

Kyung's right, of course—Jaehyo'd been out on a shoot when he'd basically been attacked by his own lighting equipment. And now he needs Kyung to come pick him up at the hospital because he "probably has a concussion, but probably not" and that "the doctors won't let me discharge without someone here". Throughout the conversation, Kyung keeps his eyes on Jiho, their hands still intertwined. He's tempted to tell Jaehyo to ring up Taeil instead, because they were  _ just _ about to get somewhere. But he's not that heartless. 

"I swear you have feet for hands," Kyung tells Jaehyo, "text me your address." It's with reluctance that he relays the information with Jiho, but he keeps it open-ended enough to suggest that lunch hadn't turned out well, but perhaps dinner...?

//

Jiho’s not surprised Jaehyo has managed to injure himself; in the few moments they’ve had alone, Jiho had noticed his long legs and general air of clumsiness. Photography – what a dangerous industry.

He says nothing as they clamber out of the crawlspace and head downstairs, just enjoying the few moments they have left before they have to go their separate ways. Logically he knows it’s not forever; it’s just until – well. Until he can gather up the courage to ask to see Kyung again, and who knows when that will be, since he ruined lunch completely. But then he sees the look in Kyung’s eyes, like he  _ wants _ Jiho to ask, so as they spill out into the sunshine, blinking, he gathers up his courage. Catching Kyung’s hand in his own, he laces their fingers for a moment before Kyung has to go. “Hey, uh, I know I fucked lunch, but can we maybe try dinner? You choose, this time. But I promise I’ll pay.” 

//

Kyung doesn't know why he's surprised—they've pretty much spent the entire afternoon just gazing into each other's eyes, which honestly is more embarrassing than admitting that he'd nearly fucked someone in a public changing room, but if the former doesn’t cement how Jiho feels about him, then Kyung doesn’t know what else he can ask for. 

“I’ll never turn down paid dinner,” Kyung says, but they both know that’s not what he means. They both know—or at least Kyung  _ hopes _ Jiho knows—that they’re on route to something big and scary and all encompassing and Kyung needs to hold Jiho’s hand on their way there. “You’ve seen my room, it’s only fair that I see yours, right?”

He has class the next morning, but he figures he has time to make it back from across time if he wakes up at ass o’clock to do it. And anyway, it’s not the waking up that’ll hinder his ability to go to lecture on time; it’s the person who’s going to be next to him.

//

Jiho’s heart sinks at that – his  _ apartment _ , fuck, there’s going to be a lot of questions he’s going to have to answer there – but he smiles widely. “Sure, although I’m not a very good cook. Not as good as you. We might have to order pizza as a last resort…” 

He presses a kiss to Kyung’s forehead and gives him a goodbye hug, his heart lurching as they walk away from each other, looking back over their shoulders every few steps until Kyung rounds the corner and is gone. As soon as he’s out of sight, Jiho puts his hands on his knees and breathes out heavily. Fuck. Kyung wants to see his apartment, which still has boxes strewn around – it looks  _ nothing _ like the apartment of a poor art student. It’s in an expensive building, too; he’d splashed out considering he never spends money on anything else except rent, so he may as well be paying for something nice. How is he going to explain all that?

For a moment he considers throwing up again, or just vanishing off the face of the earth, going underground and throwing himself into work full time. But then he realises that if he does that he’ll never see Kyung again and that hurts to even  _ consider _ so he straightens up and slides his sunglasses on, breathing heavily.

Right. He knows he can do this; it’s a lot of work, but he  _ can _ do it. So, taking a deep breath, he starts walking towards the bus stop, running over his plans in his mind. Thank  _ fuck _ he’s got unlimited funds...

**

He flops back onto the lounge and closes his eyes, absolutely fucking exhausted. In the span of six hours he’s managed to transform his threadbare, empty apartment to something that looks, at least, minimally lived in – he’d run out and bought more furniture from a garage sale he’d seen signs for earlier in the week, stuff that was useable but looked worn in; he’d bought a full set of artist’s pencils and had done countless drawings and sketches of nothing and everything, breaking them in; he’d even gone to the supermarket and stocked up on food, filling his fridge and cupboards with shit – all stuff he hadn’t had needed to do before. Before he met Kyung, no one cared or even knew that the only shit he had in his apartment was literally a bed and a sofa; no one cared or knew that the only thing in his fridge was a mouldy jar of mayonnaise; he’d never had cause to be anything but himself.

Perhaps he should feel disgusted with himself for all these lies, but honestly he just wants to sleep for years and years, preferably with Kyung by his side. First, though, he needs to shower, so he gets up and heads into the bathroom – which is now stocked with a new set of fluffy towels, folded neatly – to turn on the water, keeping his phone nearby lest Kyung texts. They’d texted infrequently throughout the day and he’d even received a picture of Jaehyo in a hospital bed, flipping off the camera, as Kyung grinned in the foreground; the last contact they’d had was Kyung telling Jiho he was on his way.

Jiho is not a particularly lucky person – things generally don’t go his way very often, as his life attests – so of course the doorbell rings when he’s in the shower. He leaps out and panics, nearly slipping over on the wet floor, before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist haphazardly. Reaching for his jeans, he sticks one leg in before realising it’s gonna take too long because he’s still wet and they’re not slipping on so he just decides  _ fuck it _ and heads out to open the front door as is, still dripping wet, wearing nothing but the towel around his waist. 

“Hey,” he grins at Kyung cheekily, dragging a hand through his hair. “Come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now would also probably be a good time to direct you to my _other_ backstory, this one about M (who is B-Bomb, in case you hadn't twigged). This one I wrote, again, because hyonestly egged me on – her love for M is unbelievable. It can be found [HERE.](http://cassiem312.livejournal.com/7352.html)


	5. Chapter 5

Kyung nearly chokes when Jiho opens the door; he had a whole spiel he wanted to complain about—how the hospital was ineffective, how he’s pretty sure Jaehyo has a concussion, and how the shop he’d picked up the pizza from had essentially fucked up his order. Thrice. But all that grousing evaporates when he sees Jiho, gleaming like some kind of godamn mirage right in front of him.

And he  _ knows _ . He knows exactly what he’s doing to Kyung, looking exactly like that. Not that Kyung’s making any efforts to hide it either—he’s pretty sure he’s flushed red now (and he’s going to blame the element of surprise for that), but most of all, his jaw’s hanging open like he’s some kind of middle schooler, looking at someone’s half-naked picture for the first time.

“I brought… pizza,” Kyung says lamely, shaking his head as he laughs at himself. “What is this, some b-grade porno? I think it’s a little too late for seduction.” But even as he says that, even as he slides past Jiho and takes a cursory glance around his apartment, even as he drops the bag of boxed pizzas on the ground, he’s lunging for Jiho the second he hears the sound of the door clicking shut, one hand curved possessively around the back of Jiho’s neck as he presses up against him, kissing him fiercely.

//

Jiho makes a noise of surprise as Kyung kisses him passionately, one hand curling on the back of his neck, the other sliding around, skimming over the top of the towel to rest on the small of his back, pulling him close, removing all the negative space between them. His hands respond automatically of their own volition, plucking at the fabric of Kyung’s shirt, slipping his hands underneath to palm at the skin of Kyung’s belly, his back, everywhere he can reach, doing what he wanted to do earlier. 

The pizzas lie forgotten as Kyung backs him up against the nearest wall and trails biting kisses down Jiho’s neck, making him gasp and jerk forward, his eyelids fluttering shut. Kyung is so  _ intoxicating _ in the way he touches Jiho, always leaving Jiho coming back for more. He’s stuck in Kyung’s orbit, can’t move away if he wants to – and why would he want to, when Kyung is making him feel this good?

//

Jiho’s skin tastes like it did the night before, a non-descript scent of soap, the kind that was probably housed in a plain white bottle with only the brand on the front. Yet it leaves Kyung feeling dizzy—dizzy enough to clutch onto Jiho’s shoulder for purchase, but certainly not dizzy enough for Kyung to reach around and grab Jiho’s ass through the thin layer of his towel. And even  _ this _ is barely enough. He wants to leave his mark on Jiho, wants to let the whole world know that he’s been here, that this is land he wants to conquer. 

He’s a little breathless when he pulls back, flashing Jiho a sharp, predatory smile as he tugs gently at the front of Jiho’s towel, voice sweet as saccharine when he asks, “Aren’t you gonna give me a tour of your bedroom?” For all his width and build, Jiho looks the best slightly stunned, wearing an expression that Kyung wants to put on his face again and again and again—hair mussed from his shower, eyes wide with surprise and lust, his lips red, parted invitingly, enough for Kyung to surge up again to meet Jiho’s mouth with his without waiting for an answer.

//

Taking Kyung’s hand, Jiho leads him down the hall and into his bedroom. He’d bought a bedframe today, and some new sheets, so his bed looks relatively neat and inviting. He sees the bedroom through Kyung’s eyes, sees the huge floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city, sparkling and glittering below him. He sees the wardrobe, its door open, displaying clothes hung up neatly, most in shades of black, the two garish shirts Kyung had bought for him breaking the pattern. He sees the bedside table with a lamp and alarm clock; he sees his sketchbook, tossed on the floor beside his bed.

But he doesn’t have time to take everything in like it’s new because Kyung is pushing him backwards, yanking off his towel and shoving him gently onto the bed, crawling over him and pressing kisses upwards from his bellybutton, nipping and biting his way up Jiho’s body until he reaches Jiho’s lips. They kiss again, their mouths meeting and parting like old friends, and Jiho sighs happily as he strokes Kyung’s hair, thinking he would be happy to just stay like this forever.

//

He wants to map out the topography of Jiho’s body—every single nook and cranny and tattoo and scar and mole. It’s a little too early to say this, but he doesn’t care; he wants to be the last one to hold that map, especially when it comes with a side of Jiho looking up at him like he wouldn’t like to be anywhere else in this moment. His hair is warm in Kyung’s hair, and Kyung finds that he’s no longer pissed or annoyed or horny, he just wants  _ Jiho _ .

“Hi,” he says, his voice coming out a little too shyly for his tastes, so he clears his throat and tries again as he moves to straddle Jiho’s stomach, “ _ hi _ .” And then he’s planting his hands by the sides of Jiho’s head, lowering his face until he’s almost nose-to-nose with Jiho, just drinking him in. It’s only been several hours since they’d last met, but Kyung feels like he’s been starved again, and needs all that he can get.

He kisses Jiho again, slowly this time, none of that hurried urgency that he’d had from earlier. He kisses with the knowledge that the whole night stretches ahead of them, that he’s in Jiho’s apartment, with Jiho’s things surrounding them, that in a way, Kyung’s at the epicentre of Jiho’s life.

//

“Hey,” Jiho whispers back onto Kyung’s lips, his hand stroking Kyung’s face, thumb drawing a line along Kyung’s cheekbone. 

Kyung kisses him long and slow and deep and it’s a kiss that says  _ let’s do this forever _ and  _ I want you _ and those two messages, delivered in the gentle way Kyung traces the line of his bottom lip with his tongue, have him scrunching his eyes shut because it hurts too much to even consider the fact that he doesn’t deserve this and never will. A white-hot blade of pain pierces him through the heart at that thought so he reaches for the hem of Kyung’s shirt, lifting it up and peeling it off unhurriedly, so badly needing distraction to keep him from thinking of it.

“Did you miss me?” he murmurs, placing his palm flat on Kyung’s chest and feeling him, committing the feel of his skin to memory, the dips and curves and hills and valleys, his for the moment. 

//

“Did I miss you?” Kyung echoes, covering Jiho’s hand on his chest as he ponders the question. Jiho’s always warm, so warm that Kyung doesn’t know why no one else is drawn to this heat like the way he is: helplessly and wonderfully so. He hums, loudly, contemplatively, making a show of lifting Jiho’s palm to his lips, slowly kissing his way down his arm until he’s folded over and working his way up the curve of Jiho’s neck, landing a final kiss on Jiho’s lips. “I dunno. You tell me.” 

He wonders if it’s going to be like this every time he’s with Jiho—skin to skin, and hungry for each other. He wonders if time is always going to move in slow motion, and then speed up all at once. It’s a weird experience to have, this dusky, soft glow that settles over him whenever Jiho’s around. 

“Did  _ you _ miss me?” Kyung returns, his question practically a whisper. It’s more of an answer than a question, because he knows what Jiho would say. He knows it in the way Jiho keeps his eyes wide open, gaze transfixed on Kyung, like he  _ can’t _ look away. And yet he knows it, too, in the way his eyes squeeze shut when Kyung kisses him, like it’s all too godamn much.  _ That makes the both of us _ , Kyung wants to say, but doesn’t know how. So instead he takes Jiho’s hand and guides it in the direction of his dick, grinning teasingly as he says, “Then prove it.”

//

Jiho is never one to back down from a challenge, and he loves,  _ loves _ making Kyung come undone so he thumbs open the button and fly on Kyung’s jeans, yanks them down as best he can considering Kyung’s straddling him, and closes his hand on Kyung’s cock. He watches carefully so he can memorise the way Kyung gasps and shifts his hips upwards involuntarily, his eyes fluttering shut and his hand digging into Jiho’s hair as he breathes out shakily. 

“Christ…” Jiho mutters, the sight of Kyung leaning over him like this somehow so incredibly erotic.

He pulls Kyung in for a kiss, feeling the desperation and frustration on Kyung’s lips and tongue as he bucks his hips upward, wanting  _ more _ , wanting Jiho to go faster – but he doesn’t, he just continues stroking at his lazy pace, loving the way Kyung whines shamelessly into his mouth.

“Does this prove it?” he murmurs against Kyung’s lips. “Or do I have to keep going?”

//

“Ha,” Kyung breathes out. He means for it to sound derisive, mildly affronted that Jiho would even  _ ask _ if he should keep going, especially when Kyung’s fingers are digging into the front of his chest, blunt nails pressing curved lines in his skin. But it comes out breathy instead, shaky and punctuated with the tail-end of a moan. 

His eyes scrunch shut as he gulps, resisting the urge to just hold Jiho’s wrist in place so he can fuck himself up into the tight circle of Jiho’s hand. “Fucking—”

And then he’s kissing Jiho again, hand sliding up into Jiho’s hair so he can angle their mouths better, deepening the kiss to urge Jiho on.  _ Hurry the fuck up _ , he’s saying, fingers twisting tighter in Jiho’s hair. It’s not usually like this—with his exes (interspersed with other people in between), he’s always slow and sweet with the occasional make-up sex. This, though? With Jiho’s hand on his cock? He finds that he can’t wait, finds himself kissing the shell of Jiho’s ear and moaning a low, needy  _ fuck me _ .

//

“Thought you’d never ask,” Jiho chuckles into Kyung’s ear.

Sitting up, he reaches for the lube and condoms he’d bought today and stashed in his (new) bedside table, sliding out from underneath Kyung. Grinning, he grabs Kyung by the waist and flips him over so he’s face down on the bed, yanking a pillow over to shove underneath Kyung's hips. 

He leans over Kyung and presses kisses up the line of his spine, his hair tracing swirls up Kyung’s back, making him shiver. Jiho watches in wonder as goosebumps rise on his skin, surprised he can have this sort of effect on someone – on Kyung, of all people. He rocks back on his heels and opens the little bottle of lube, squirting some on his fingers before reaching down to slip one into Kyung, watching as Kyung gasps and grabs at the sheets, his fingers clenching on the fabric. 

He knows Kyung is desperate – he can tell by the way he’s shifting his hips back onto Jiho’s finger, wanting more, but he can’t resist the opportunity to tease Kyung, to draw it out. He crooks his finger upward, hitting that spot, laughing as Kyung moans into the mattress.

//

_ Oh _ , Kyung thinks distantly as Jiho flips him over. His eyes automatically flutter closed as Jiho kisses him, his adam’s apple working with some sort of foreign emotion that doesn’t have its place here, right now, when he’s about to be  _ fucked _ . 

_ Get it together _ , he tells himself, eyes opening again when he hears the sounds of Jiho uncapping a bottle. He barely has time to glance back to watch when Jiho slips a finger in him and he gasps in surprise, thighs clenching to give him some leverage to fuck himself up against Jiho’s fingers.

“Asshole,” he mutters under his breath when Jiho fucking  _ laughs _ , but it’s a word tinged with fondness and affection. And anyway, he can’t afford much more when he wants  _ more _ from Jiho, fingers curling into the sheets as he glances back and watches Jiho with his mouth open, breaths coming out hotly. 

Jiho looks mesmerized, by  _ what _ exactly, Kyung can’t quite discern. But he plays up to it anyway, moaning Jiho’s name wantonly in the same breath he asks for  _ more, please _ .

//

“Mmmm…” Jiho hums, doing as he’s told and adding another finger even though he knows that’s not what Kyung meant. 

He’s not as miserable as he was last time, but there’s still an undercurrent of sadness to this slow, drawn-out burn and he thanks God for his photographic memory because he knows he’ll want to remember this in the years to come when Kyung has realised the truth and left. He looks so – Jiho doesn’t even have words to describe him, really, because the only one that comes to mind is  _ soft _ and that doesn’t make any sense when Jiho is fingerfucking him but it’s all he has right now so he just accepts it. Kyung, closing his eyes, his lips slightly parted, the pink of his tongue contrasting so beautifully to the white of the sheets, his hair spilling onto the fabric –

He swallows hard, pulling his fingers out of Kyung with no warning, knowing if he keeps looking at Kyung like this he’ll get melancholy. Kyung opens his eyes to protest – Jiho can see the words forming on his lips – when he shifts back on his heels to rip open the condom with his teeth and roll it down on his cock. He doesn’t bother to say anything because they don’t need words between the two of them, not really, it’s all communicated through the way he grabs Kyung’s hips and drags him closer, the way Kyung looks up at him, wide-eyed and needy.

So, not bothering to draw it out any longer, he lines himself up and pushes into Kyung slowly, exhaling deeply,  _ feeling _ the way they fit together so fucking perfectly, god,  _ yes. _

//

The moment Jiho pushes in, Kyung moans, eyelids fluttering as he presses his face deeper into the sheets. Fuck, everything is Jiho. He’s surrounded with Jiho’s things, with the scent of Jiho’s soap, with his face pressed into the sheets Jiho slept on. The thought has him pushing himself up onto his knees and elbows because Jiho  _ isn’t _ moving. He glances back to see Jiho’s eyes closed, hands gripping Kyung’s hips proprietarily and Kyung gulps, sucking in a deep, bracing breath before he fucks himself on Jiho’s cock.

His pace is slow, mostly relying on the momentum to set the speed. But Jiho fills him up completely and Kyung’s on fucking fire, sliding one hand down to grip himself so that he’s fucking himself both ways.

“Shit,” he breathes out, and breathes in Jiho, fingers clenching tightly onto the sheets. It’s too much, and not enough all at once, but the desperation has him laughing, mostly at himself, at how fast he’s fallen to Jiho’s mercy, whatever the hell that means. “You’re going to  _ kill _ me.”

//

Those words break something in him because he knows Kyung doesn’t mean anything by it – just a stupid throwaway line uttered during sex, lord knows people say the stupidest things when they’re being fucked – but still he snaps, gripping Kyung’s hips and thrusting faster, _ harder _ . He’s not going to kill Kyung, no, but if Kyung knew the truth…

“And you’re going to make me crazy,” he says, the last syllable petering off into a moan because Kyung’s so tight and hot and once again he feels like he’s stuck on a path that he has no control over. Kyung has stolen all his choices, all his words, all his sanity – it’s all his, and Jiho offers it up helplessly.

He loses track of time after that; they could be fucking for a minute or an hour, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care, he just completely loses himself in Kyung, in drinking him in – Kyung is the air he breathes, the blood in his veins, his heartbeat. His orgasm creeps up on him and hits him at once and he hangs onto Kyung’s hips, anchoring himself as he throws back his head, his tumultuous feelings exploding through his fingertips and dispersing until he feels nothing but pleasure and despair.

//

If Kyung closes his eyes, his awareness narrows down to Jiho—fucking him harder and faster and the only thing that overcomes that feeling is the grip he has on Kyung’s hips, like pinpoints of heat and pressure—and only Jiho. So he does, face pressed into the sheets, moans coming out muffled and messy and wet, jacking himself off at the same pace Jiho’s going.

He starts mouthing off when he’s closer to orgasming, a litany of phrases that mean nothing at all, except to pour out every last emotion he feels, a blur of  _ holy shit Jiho fuck me harder you feel so good _ . It’s a habit that he’d thought he’d managed to finally get rid of considering their last two encounters, but he’s so, so terribly wrong, and he’s just glad for the fact that Jiho lives in a godamn high rise apartment instead of a dorm room, where the walls are thin and the neighbours had a tendency to give you mortified looks every time they saw you in the hallways.

And then he’s coming, hand jerking over his cock with minimal finesse and maximum urgency, come streaking across the pillow Jiho’d shoved under him earlier, his hand clenching so hard at the sheets that his knuckles turn white.

//

Jiho pulls out of Kyung and ties a knot in the condom silently, dropping it into the bin next to the bed and collapsing onto the mattress heavily, flinging a forearm over his eyes, coming back to himself. The sheets are cool on his back as he deliberately slows his breathing, feeling his pulse come back down to normal again. 

After a minute or so he feels the mattress shift and depress next to him, and opens his eyes to see Kyung lying on his side, looking at Jiho with such a soft, affectionate expression that Jiho smiles back, rolling onto his side to stroke Kyung’s face. 

“Hey,” he grins, trying desperately to ignore the demon on his shoulder whispering  _ you’re in too deep. _ “I think we forgot about the pizza.”

//

Kyung stills, collapsing right in the exact same spot he’d been in. Vaguely, he hears Jiho cleaning up, but he’s honestly too busy remembering how to unclench his fist to look. And then he shifts, gravitating towards Jiho’s warmth because he’s naked and cold and it’s  _ Jiho _ , does he really need any other explanation? His skin’s slightly flushed, long hair sticking out every which way in its attempt to dry, and he’s sweating, forehead glistening with beads of perspiration. Kyung gulps, feeling suddenly gutted all over again.

Jiho’s hand on his face feels like benediction; like a sunflower turning to the sun, Kyung lifts his head to prop his cheek up against the sticky-wet skin of Jiho’s shoulder, exhaling contently. He spends just a few more moments to bask in Jiho’s presence just because he can, and then groans out, in the most melodramatic tone he can muster, “Can’t move. Just go on without me.”

He’s lying, of course—he hadn’t eaten since their aborted lunch, what with shuffling between the restaurant and the library and then the hospital. And more importantly, he’s in Jiho’s  _ house _ . There’s no way he’s going to give up the chance to go exploring, not even if Jiho suggests a second round.

//

Jiho grins and leaps up, jumping off the bed to grab Kyung by the ankles. “Yeah? Are you sure?” He asks, walking backwards and dragging Kyung slowly off the end of the bed, ducking the pillow that Kyung throws at him. “Are you  _ really _ sure?”

“Let me go, asshole!” Kyung manages to gasp through laughter, grabbing onto the edge of the mattress as Jiho keeps dragging him.

“Alright,” Jiho sing-songs, dropping Kyung’s ankles, leaving him half-on, half-off the bed, the both of them laughing so hard they can barely breathe, clutching their hands to their stomachs helplessly.

When Jiho can breathe again, he turns on his heel and walks over to the wardrobe, pulling on a pair of boxers – admittedly black, and not a lurid yellow like Kyung had been wearing when they’d first met – and a pair of pyjama pants, ripping the  _ other _ hideous shirt that Kyung had bought him (the one with so many clashing colours he felt like he needed sunglasses to look at it) off its coat hanger and pulling it over his head. He turns to see Kyung pulling on his jeans and, posing, gestures at himself theatrically. “How do I look?”

//

_ Adorable _ , Kyung thinks, his chest doused with sudden warmth,  _ like my heart’s going to combust and leave me in ruins, like I’ll never look at someone the same way again. _ But aloud, he says, “Like every regret I’ve ever had,” and sighs loudly, doing up the button of his jeans properly before striding over to Jiho. “But you’re working the look,  _ baby _ .” He grins then, patting Jiho’s cheek in a condescending manner, then quickly grips onto both of Jiho’s hands lest Jiho feels like he’s in a punching mood.

“So,” he adds, “are you gonna give me a proper apartment tour?” He realizes he doesn’t quite know anything about Jiho’s living conditions aside from the fact that this apartment is his. Does he share it with someone else? Is there a third person in this space that’d heard Kyung lose himself to Jiho? Because the view tells him that it’s expensive—but the things littered in the room tells Kyung, at least, that this room was Jiho’s alone—and to pay for it would mean that Jiho’s  _ loaded _ . Kyung feels a twang of envy, but it’s the kind that’s associated from a life-long need to budget everything he’s ever spent his money on.

Well, except the abomination that Jiho’s currently wearing, but he can’t even find it in himself to regret that.

//

Jiho grins down at Kyung, who’s still got Jiho’s hands in a death grip. He shakes free and intertwines their fingers, swinging their hands a little bit. “Sure,” he nods, turning and heading out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. “Welcome to the Woo abode.” 

He backtracks to the front door and, after picking up the now-cold pizza and placing it on the kitchen island, turns around to face into the apartment. “Okay, this is the kitchen and living room area, as you can tell.” 

The living room is pretty fucking empty except for the sofa he’d picked up today (black leather, a little cracked but still soft and useable), the coffee table (he’d strewn a few drawings across it for the appearance of reality) and a huge TV hanging on the wall. He never used it, but best to keep up appearances. He glances around the large space, seeing it through Kyung’s eyes as if for the first time – he sees the modern kitchen, gleaming and clean (even though he never uses it), the marble of the island glittering in the expensive overhead lighting. His stomach sinks and he realises he’s going to have to come up with a pretty convincing lie to make Kyung reconcile the fact he’s a student in a multi-million dollar apartment. Shaking that thought off, he walks over to the hallway to the left, nodding down at the doors. “Down there is the spare bedroom and guest bathroom. I haven’t had a chance to buy furniture for those rooms yet.” Which isn’t a lie, but still he leads Kyung down and opens both doors, trying to be as transparent as possible. 

He opens the door next the bathroom, the laundry, and then leads Kyung back through the living room towards his bedroom. “You already know the bedroom…” he throws back over his shoulder with a wink, nodding to it as they walk past. “This is the study, which is pretty empty.” He opens the door to show Kyung the desk and bookshelf he’d picked up today, the bookshelf looking pretty fucking empty indeed with only a few books on it. “And then the en-suite is through the bedroom.” 

He deliberately ignores the end room that he keeps locked, the key taped to the underside of his bedframe – his weapons room, which is probably the only room in the apartment that’s full of shit – and spreads his arms wide. “Done. Your grand tour is complete.” He links his arm through Kyung’s and walks back towards the living room, pressing a kiss to the side of Kyung’s head gently. “What do you think?”

//

Kyung remains silent throughout the entire tour, eyes wide from both awe and the worry that he might miss something quintessential to the makings of Woo Jiho. Which is just ridiculous, because Kyung’s dorm room isn’t a reflection of himself—well, okay, he has to consider posters he has up on the walls (a byproduct of the Great Poster War he’d had with Jaehyo when they first moved in) and his clothes littering the room and his paperwork all over the fucking place and, yeah, it’s a pretty good reflection of who he is.

So then by that logic, Woo Jiho is clean, almost obsessively so. Kyung doesn’t spot a stray art equipment nor a sock or a shirt or any kind of things you’d typically accidentally sit on in someone’s home. Even the toilet was spotless, with the bottles neatly lined in place. And Kyung’s spent plenty of time in other people’s places to know that this is commonplace. Kyung thinks about the drawing he’d done of Kyung—clean, thin strokes—and thinks about this apartment and feels a swell of affection for Woo Jiho. That, and Kyung can’t fucking clean to save his life. 

“I didn’t peg you to be the neat sort,” Kyung muses, accepting the kiss with his eyes still scanning the room as if he’s afraid of missing something, even though it’s clear that Jiho barely has anything for him to miss. “It’s cute. Will you clean my room fo— wait, you haven’t shown me your work yet!”

//

For a moment Jiho freezes – his  _ work? _ What? Has Kyung pegged, somehow, that he is not who he says he is, that this is all a lie? Panic begins to set in, closing around his chest like a vice, but then he remembers his cover and smiles easily, breathing out slowly. Kyung just means his  _ art _ . So he leads Kyung over to the lounge and gestures at the few drawings he’s left scattered around. “Here are some. I’ll get my sketchbook.”

The amount of work he’s put into this sketchbook has been off the charts. He’d carefully stained one page with a ring from a cup of coffee; others still he’d crumpled slightly, and he’d flipped through the thing hundreds of times, making the pages worn and broken-in. However, most importantly of all, he’d spent the whole day  _ drawing _ , drawing nothing and everything – the skyline from his apartment; different views of the street below; the canopy of trees they’d walked through in the morning; a dog he’d seen on the street; flowers; cars –  _ everything. _ As he’d gone, he’d felt himself getting back into the swing of things, feeling the pencil become familiar in his hand, feeling his old skills reawaken. He even has a page with a quick sketch of Jaehyo and Taeil; Jaehyo from the side, squinting slightly, and Taeil standing with his arms folded and eyebrows raised. He doesn’t even want to begin to count how many drawings of Kyung there are in there – he’d  _ tried _ to keep it under ten so as not to come off as a creepy stalker, but he’s not sure if he succeeded.

Jiho lopes back into the room and vaults over the back of the lounge, landing next to Kyung with a  _ thump _ , making him jump. “Here,” he says, shoving the sketchbook at Kyung, his ears turning red as he blushes helplessly.

//

Kyung snorts, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been alarmed by Jiho’s sudden return because he’d been peering around the room for photographs of some sort and realize that his first assessment was correct: Jiho basically lived in a hotel room. But then he catches sight of Jiho blushing and he feels like he’s been handed the holy grail. This is important to him, Kyung realizes, having grown acclimatized with hanging out with the likes of Ahn Jaehyo, who used Kyung as quality control for his work. 

“Getting shy?” Kyung teases anyway, leaning against Jiho’s side as he flips open the book. It’s been worn down in the way a good book was, each page no longer bound neatly together, but a little displaced,  _ loved _ . Kyung licks his lips as he flips open the first page, trying not to stay too long on the same image because there’s  _ so much more _ . This feels less of a sketchbook Jiho uses for ideas, but more of a visual diary, and it makes Kyung feel warm to think that this the way Woo Jiho views the world: soft and clear, with a sense of whimsy in them that has Kyung laughing, because who draws a dog’s  _ tail _ and not its head? 

But then his laughter stops short when he flips and comes face to face with his own mug, staring unflinchingly out from the page. He’s naked, he realizes, and in the back of the drawing, Jiho’s coloured in some washing machines haphazardly, straight lines against the tousled mess of Kyung’s Laundromat Day hair. His eyes are wide, eyelashes painstakingly drawn stroke-by-stroke, and Kyung can’t find his voice to even ask,  _ Is that me? _ , just glances at Jiho with disbelief before moving onto the next page.

He finds himself again and again and again, at various snapshots of their time together—eating dumplings across an imaginary table (but here, he has a hand raised to proffer a dumpling to the viewer), bright with excitement, then he’s sitting propped against the plastered wall of his dormitory’s roof, a can of beer in his hands, the noodles he’d made steaming away at the side. And then there’s him sleeping, peaceful, the entire drawing coloured in darkly, with only a sliver of Kyung’s face illuminated. It makes his heart stop, that drawing, makes him set aside his sketchbook so he can plant a hand on Jiho’s chest to lean up and kiss him as sweetly as possible.

//

Jiho is sure he’s the colour of a tomato right now, but he smiles against Kyung’s lips, content through his embarrassment. Honestly, he could sit here all night and watch the way Kyung flips through his sketchbook – the way he touches the pages softly, gently; the way his expression changes, from smiling widely at the drawing of the dog to awe and reverence at the drawing of him sleeping. The fact that  _ he _ is the one to put such expressions on Kyung’s face – he, Woo Jiho a contract killer with the emotional depth of a goldfish – has his heart skipping beats in his chest, making him feel slightly woozy, heady.

“Do you like them?” he asks, catching Kyung’s hand on his chest and kissing it gently. 

He knows Kyung does, he can see it on his face, and alright – maybe it’s fishing for compliments. But he needs them, he hasn’t drawn for so long and he genuinely can’t tell if Kyung genuinely thinks they’re good from an artistic point of view.

//

Kyung’s reply for Jaehyo (a sharp, “What do you think I think?” followed by him dropping it either in the approved pile or in the  _ what the hell is this? _ pile) nearly rolls off the tip of his tongue, but he stops just in time to grin up at Jiho and say, “I love them, are you kidding me?” One kiss to Jiho’s cheek. “ Is that even a question?” Another kiss to his other cheek. “I can’t believe you would even ask me that.” And a final one to the tip of Jiho’s nose, and he’s back flipping through the sketchbook again.

He sees a couple more pictures of himself—and is tempted to tease Jiho for being  _ obsessed with Kyung _ but realizes that he’d be the pot calling the kettle black—and sometimes just snapshots of his features, like the curl of his smile or his fingers over one of Jiho’s tattoos, but the next time he stops short again is at Ahn Jaehyo’s side-profile, wearing his signature look of displeasure—eyes narrowed, suspicious, about to hurl out an insult or two. 

“Is this  _ Jaehyo _ ?” Kyung asks, a little facetiously. He laughs then, glancing up at Jiho with amusement twinkling in his eyes, then back down again to scrutinise the details of Jaehyo’s face. They’ve only met once, but Kyung’s known Jaehyo for two decades, and this picture’s almost accurate to every last detail. 

“He’s going to  _ love _ this,” Kyung adds, digging in his jeans pocket for his phone, and then realizes that he should probably ask for permission first. “Can I? Send it to him? He’s  _ never _ going to shut up about it, though.”

//

Jiho runs a hand through his hair somewhat nervously. It’s one thing showing these drawings to Kyung, who sees the world in angles and equations; besides, it’s  _ Kyung _  – entirely another for another artist to see it. The fact that it’s one of Kyung’s best friends has his stomach flip-flopping nervously, but he sees the eager expression on Kyung’s face and – fuck, his heart sinks as he realises he’s not able to refuse Kyung  _ anything _ , not now. 

“Sure,” he nods, sliding his arm around Kyung’s shoulders. “Knock yourself out.”

He watches as Kyung takes a careful photo of the drawing, retaking it several times to make sure there’s no shadows, and sends it off to Jaehyo before looking back up at him with a smile.

God, the devil on his shoulder wraps its fingers around his throat as he smiles back weakly. He’s in way,  _ way _ too deep – he should have walked away after that day in the shopping centre, when he wasn’t too infatuated with Kyung. But as it is, it’s too late, and he knows he’s not going to leave him for anything – which makes the inevitable moment where it all will come crashing down all the more painful. 

//

Jiho looks nervous, suddenly, more nervous than he had before; Kyung can tell because his grin waters down to something dimmer, and a pang of guilt hits him because it’s not like Jiho can say  _ no _ . So Kyung should’ve read him a little better before asking for permission. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, sinking back further into the couch so Jiho’s arm fits even more snugly around him. “He’ll love it. I mean, he’s the only artistic person he knows, so seeing colour pencils alone makes him want to cry. You have no idea how happy he’ll be when he sees this—” Kyung stops, suddenly, because he realizes he’s starting to ramble. He also realizes he can’t move, doesn’t  _ want _ to move. Wants to spend eternity on a cracked old couch with Jiho’s arm around him. If this flies out of his reach, Kyung thinks, as he flips to the next page of Jiho’s sketchbook, if Jiho walks away, he’s going to walk away with a piece of Kyung with him. It’s no problem, though. Kyung knows how to keep his hands on what he wants.

And then he flips to the next page—it’s Taeil, looking every bit the intimidating Guy with a Bike he’s always wanted, and Kyung has to bite his tongue to resist the urge to ask Jiho if he can send  _ this _ picture to Taeil too. 

As if on cue, his phone vibrates against his thigh. It’s Jaehyo, sending him a stream of agitated crying emojis. “See?” Kyung says, beaming brightly, as he all but shoves his phone in Jiho’s face. “I told you.”

//

Jiho blinks and focuses on the phone being waved in his face, to read the texts between Kyung and Jaehyo – but all he can see is hysterical sobbing emojis, filling up the screen, more arriving even as he watches. A shy smile spreads over his face and he covers his mouth with his hand to hide it, pleasantly surprised.

“You can send it to Taeil,” he says from behind his hand, watching as Kyung blinks in surprise. “Go on.”

He’d read Kyung’s body language again, seen the way he’d reacted when he’d seen the drawing of Taeil – but he had also noticed that  _ Kyung _ had noticed his hesitation; perhaps Kyung thinks it’s a little weird that Jiho’s able to read him so easily, but honestly? Kyung is just too easy.

//

Kyung doesn’t even know why he’s surprised when Jiho tells him to send it along to Taeil anyway; Jiho can read him easily, that much is obvious. That’s why he feels so easily at ease. It’s not on him, it’s  _ Jiho _ . Which, contrary to popular belief, isn’t something easily achievable. Kyung may get along with everyone he meets, but getting him to trust someone else is a thing of time and prolonged interactions. 

He knows this. And that’s why it’s terrifying that Jiho’s managed it so fucking easily.

To distract himself from his thoughts (easy, too easy), he sets to work snapping a picture of Taeil’s countenance to send it along, his phone still buzzing continuously with Jaehyo’s excited message.

“He says he wants it and he wants it framed,” Kyung tells Jiho, leaning back once he’s done. “I’m telling him he can pay for it.”

//

Jiho’s about to say something cheeky when Kyung lets out a  _ huge _ yawn, allowing Jiho to see his fillings. “Someone’s tired,” he says, tucking Kyung in closer. “And I thought we were meant to eat dinner…”

“Mmmm…” Kyung hums against his chest, burying into the fabric of Jiho’s hideous shirt. 

They sit like that for a few minutes, just soaking up each other’s company, Jiho watching the way Kyung’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathes in and out, in and out, the rhythm familiar and comforting to him. He really would be happy to stay here all night, like this, not moving – just  _ existing _ , just feeling and being alive. However, within fifteen minutes Kyung’s sagging against his chest, his eyes closing.

“Right,” Jiho mutters to himself, shrugging his shoulder to see if Kyung wakes – he doesn’t. “Come on.”

He picks up Kyung easily and cradles him in his arms, holding him close and smiling as Kyung snuffles into him like a giant overgrown baby. Walking like he’s on eggshells, Jiho heads to the bedroom and lays Kyung gently down on the bed and pulls the sheets over him, fluffing a pillow behind his head and then moving to close the blinds. Kyung still doesn’t wake, so Jiho heads back into the kitchen to put the – now completely cold – pizzas in the fridge and turn off all the lights, shutting his sketchbook and laying it carefully on the coffee table. By the time he’s gotten back to the bedroom, Kyung’s stretched out, starfishing across half the bed.

Rolling his eyes, Jiho crawls into bed next to him, switching off the lamp so they’re plunged into darkness. As his eyes adjust, he can see the outline of Kyung sleeping peacefully next to him, and reaches out to touch his face, smiling happily. Yes, this is one of the memories he’ll treasure when it all goes wrong, he thinks as he drifts onwards towards sleep, his eyes closing slowly.

//

“You’re gone, you’re  _ so _ gone,” Jaehyo says, the fifth time Kyung checks his phone within 10 minutes during one of their study sessions. His tone is mocking, but there’s genuine concern in his eyes that he doesn’t voice out. They’ve been friends for nearly two decades; these things didn’t have to be said any more. “You couldn’t be less gone even if you tried.” 

In response, Kyung just flips him off, determined not to check his phone again. Jiho’d mentioned that he had  _ things _ to do that day, and it’s really Kyung’s fault that he’d been too busy to meet up with Jiho. He needed some breathing space, too, needed to see if his feelings were real, or if Jiho had a magical dick. And honestly? He’s not sure how he feels that Jiho has become a sort of permanent afterthought, a “and  _ he’d _ probably think this is…” every time he sees something new or interesting.

And that’s exactly how Kyung finds himself texting Jiho on Sunday, at 2 in the godamn morning, huddled under his blanket. He writes and rewrites the text exactly five times, closes his eyes and thinks about the last Sunday they’d spent together, how he’d woken up to Jiho’s head pillowed against his shoulder, his hair fanned out like threads of gold against Kyung’s chest and his breath stutters, stupidly enough. But that imagery is enough for him to suck it up and hit send on  _ wanna accompany me to mass tomorrow? _

//

Jiho pulls his knife out from where it’s lodged in the man’s chest and stares down at him coldly. This target was almost too easy; he had been sitting on the lounge watching television when Jiho had walked in and thrown his knife with no hesitation – the man hadn’t even had time to react.

He jumps as his phone buzzes in his pocket and fishes it out, wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. The only two people who ever text him are the Organisation and Kyung, and since he’s on a job right now it’s not the Organisation. They haven’t seen each other much in the past week, mainly because JIho had taken a job on Monday that had wiped him out until Thursday, and then Kyung had been busy studying. He doesn’t really mind, though, because they texted near-constantly; he was slowly getting the hang of using emojis, even. Sure enough, when he looks at the screen of his phone it’s Kyung, and he grins into the empty room, slipping his knife back into its sheath so he can read it properly.

_ wanna accompany me to mass tomorrow? _

He stares at the phone, blinking slowly. Mass… He hasn’t set foot in a church in five years, and he doesn’t know how he feels about going again. His job and his faith are two beings constantly at war with each other; he’d given up on trying to reconcile them long ago and had decided to just let sleeping dogs lie, but this has awoken something in him that he’s not sure he likes. 

Sitting down on the lounge next to the dead target, he sticks his thumbnail into his mouth and chews absentmindedly. He would do anything for Kyung –  _ anything _ – so even if the thought of entering God’s house again and being judged by Him for all his sins (of which there are too many to count), he begins a hesitant reply.

_ sure. just tell me when and where and i’ll be there. _

//

Kyung blasts off a re-confirmation of Jiho’s arrival the next morning, with Jaehyo looking over his shoulder— no, breathing  _ heavily _ over his shoulder, eyes wide with something akin to surprise and horror. Honestly, when will the guy stop being so dramatic so Kyung can take the spotlight for once? Is it not enough that he’s shorter than Jaehyo, and had always been shorter than Jaehyo all his life?

“What?” Kyung asks, because it appears as though Jaehyo’s current mental capacity only allowed for him to stare.

“You’re asking him  _ over? _ For  _ mass? _ Where your dad’s gonna be staring from the  _ pulpit? _ ” 

“You act like I’m bringing home the person I’m marrying. And anyway, you brought Kyungri too.”

“That’s different, she made no contact whatsoever with my parents. And when I dumped her, it was swift, with no strings attached.”

“I recall the exact opposite happening,” Kyung murmurs off-handedly, beginning to feel a little pang of regret. How  _ was _ he going to introduce Jiho to his family when Kyung himself didn’t know what the hell Jiho was to him? Light of his life seemed a little too extreme, but “acquaintance” was too clinical for someone he’s dreamt of, a little embarrassingly, for the past week. 

“Besides,” Jaehyo soldiers on, completely glossing whatever Kyung’s just said, “who says he’s even been to church?” Kyung snorts, because he can remember all too clearly the ink across Jiho’s collarbone, across his chest, across his arm. Kyung may have grown up in the house of god, but it’s obvious who’s the religious one between the two of them, far as he may have supposedly strayed.

“When are you gonna shut up and go in so we won’t have to look for seats either?” Kyung asks, nudging Jaehyo in the direction of the entrance, where people were steadily meandering in and out, waiting for the sermon to begin. “I’ll wait here for him.”

//

Okay, so Jiho had overslept a little – but then he’d got stuck in a traffic jam, and the only parking spot he could find was quite a while away, so he was currently sprinting down the street towards the church, looking probably like a madman as he ran. Because he’d woken up late he’d just grabbed the first things on his floor that weren’t bloodstained, which means he’s wearing black jeans with a black t-shirt (which is cut so that you can see the edge of his tattoo), with his leather jacket thrown over the top. It’s perhaps a bit funereal but he didn’t have any other options.

He spots Kyung standing out the front, watching him curiously as he slows to a jog and takes the steps two at a time, arriving in front of him breathless and rumpled. Jiho puts his hands on his knees – he’s not unfit, but he’s just had to sprint three blocks – and breathes out heavily. 

“Hey,” he grins, looking up at Kyung. “Sorry I’m late.”

//

Kyung has to be honest here, he’s never brought a guy back before. Yeah, his parents know he isn’t exactly rigid with who he ends up falling for (his boyhood crush on the kid next door had been pretty damn telling), but taking a  _ guy _ in is just a whole other ballgame. Which is why Kyung’s currently resisting the urge to lean up to kiss Jiho’s cheek—sweaty as he may be, he’s still resplendent, his hair a golden halo in contrast to his dark attire—and just grins up at him for a moment. 

Greetings seem kind of superfluous, but Kyung forces himself to open his mouth to say, “Hi, you look great. Uh, I mean, you—did you run all the way here?” Okay, so maybe taking a week off wasn’t really a good idea. “You’re not late. Yet.” 

He kinda wants to take Jiho’s hand, but he’s also hyperaware that people who’ve seen him in diapers are also milling around, albeit in decreasing amounts. It’s not even that Jiho’s a  _ guy _ , but more to do with the fact that they’d swoop down like an eagle spotting prey for the first time in  _ months _ . And it’s true—Kyung’d broken up with his ex at the tail-end of last year, and every family gathering since then had been an endless stream of  _ so is there someone special in your life? _

//

Kyung isn’t kissing him, or touching him, or doing anything, so Jiho wonders if he’s done the right thing accepting the offer – perhaps it would have been better for everyone if he had politely declined. Perhaps they’re going to pretend to be straight, that they’re nothing more than friends; he just doesn’t know. Not that it matters anyway because he’s not really sure  _ where _ they stand; they haven’t really had a conversation about what, exactly, they are. Jiho wants Kyung to stick around for – well, for as long as it takes until he finds out; he has no idea if Kyung feels the same way, although he’d like to hope.

“No,” Jiho laughs, straightening his jacket. “I managed to get a park, like, four blocks away. Ran here from there, though.”

He wants to hug Kyung  _ so _ badly, wants to just touch him even in the most platonic of ways, but this is not his place and it’s up to Kyung to decide that so he just straightens up and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face somewhat awkwardly.

//

There’re so many questions he wants to ask, like  _ why the hell did you run _ and  _ what have you been up to this week _ and  _ did you miss me _ but he also knows that he’s late, and the more time they spend out here, the more time Jaehyo will spend spinning wild stories that he’ll use as ammo for “when Kyung first met Jiho” type stories, that Kyung’s 100% going to make happen. 

“It’s a good thing you’re gonna be on your ass for the next hour,” Kyung tells him, then quickly glances around so he can lean up to kiss Jiho on the cheek. He wants to say  _ thanks for coming _ , but that sounds a little too much like he’d invited Jiho to a funeral, so he just takes Jiho’s hand in his—when there are less people nearby, because Kyung wants to actually enjoy this Sunday morning without being bombarded by a million and one nosy questions—to lead him into the hall. The lobby is cool, and nearly devoid of people except for the sparse few staff who wave at him. They eye Jiho like he’s an exotic animal, and he may be for how they’re going to interrogate Kyung later.

“So should I apologize for all the questions now, or  _ after _ they’ve gotten to you?” Kyung murmurs, pushing the door to the hall open to lead them to the back row.

//

“Oh boy,” Jiho murmurs, both a reaction to the questions that he’s apparently to be on the receiving end of and the church.

Automatically crossing himself as he crosses the threshold – it’s a muscle memory, one he’d thought he’d forgotten but remembers instantly the moment he’s back in the church, the air suddenly seeming heavy, pressing down on him with the weight of all his sins. Kyung is still holding his hand as he tugs him towards the back row, where Jaehyo and Taeil are seated, along with another guy who looks to be their age. They both wave, and as Jaehyo’s face lights up at the sight of him Jiho blushes, taking his seat and mouthing ‘hey’. 

//

Jiho’s crossing doesn’t go unnoticed by Kyung, who files that away under his growing database of Jiho Things. It’s funny, at first glance, Jiho seems like the furthest thing from religious, yet Kyung’s pretty sure he’s the first person who’d ever done that over the threshhold of this church. The fact that this wasn’t the kind of church that taught their congregation to cross themselves is a whole other affair. 

“Shut it,” Kyung tells Jaehyo, because he can just  _ tell _ that Jaehyo’s dying to talk about his godamn drawing that he’d already put up as his homescreen because, “A work of art should never go unappreciated.” As to whether he’s referring to his face or Jiho’s drawing, Kyung doesn’t know, and doesn’t  _ want _ to know. 

The sermon today is a rehashed one, one that Kyung already knows by heart. It’s the kind of thing that his father usually used if he knew there were new people at the church—friends of friends, ex-con excursion, you name it, Kyung’s seen it—but for people who’ve practically grown up on this bench, it’s nothing new, as evidenced by Taeil currently trying to dig into his chest with his chin. So he spends the whole time watching Jiho out of the corner of his eye, cataloguing any minute differences as his father’s voice booms out from the pulpit—he’d combed his hair today, neatly (“And the Lord said do not condemn, for those who do not condemn will see sinners the way Jesus does—as lost sheep without a shepherd.”), his leather jacket’s one that Kyung hasn’t seen before (“… for Jesus said, love the sinner and hate the sin.”), and his hands, god, his hands, Kyung just wants to reach over the take them in his now, if he weren’t hyper aware of everyone around him (“Forgiveness is undeserving.”).

//

As the sermon begins, Jiho settles down, his feelings unidentifiable and vast. This church is – well, it’s different to the one he practically grew up in, because of course it is, but it’s smaller, not as grandiose. There’s stained glass lining the walls, and he scans them, noting that they’re mostly of angels, spilling rainbows of light onto the tiled floor. It doesn’t matter that this church is  _ different _ though because it’s still God’s house and Jiho can feel His influence wreathing them all, so very bittersweet. Sweet because he never realised how much his job isolated him from everything; he didn’t realise how much he missed the sense of community that going to church brought. Even if these people are not  _ his _ congregation, they’re still  _ a _ congregation, and for the moment that’s enough.

However, his guilt tugs at him, making him sink down into the pew as the pastor’s voice booms out across them. He’s heard this sermon before, in various different variations in various different voices but today it’s particularly hard to stomach because he does not deserve forgiveness, not after how many lives he has snuffed out, not after all the endless sins he’s committed. In here, in church with Kyung sneaking glances at him, he can’t help but slump further, the very weight of his sins seemingly dragging him to hell as the faces of his victims swim in front of him like a morbid slideshow.

Yeah, this is why he stopped going to church.

//

It’s only because he’s been staring for so long that he notices that Jiho pales considerably. So Kyung places a hand on his thigh, squeezing him in a manner he hopes is comforting (and not at all salacious to his friends), his voice low and steeped in concern when he asks, “You alright?” It’s barely a murmur, but it has both Jaehyo and Yukwon glancing over in curiousity, probably drawing more attention to them than strictly necessary, and almost all at once Kyung regrets asking Jiho to meet here.

If he were to guess, it’s probably about Jiho’s uncle, whom he’d said Jiho was close to when he passed away. Kyung’s regret intensifies by way of guilt and he wonders if he should ask if Jiho wants to leave. What’s the protocol in a situation like this? Kyung’s lost his social mores, suddenly, and wants to switch places with Jaehyo, whose bumbling ways may sometimes be more appropriate than anticipated. 

“He okay?” Jaehyo leans over to ask, and Yukwon follows suit, silent, but concerned (Taeil leans over in the opposite direction, having already fallen asleep).  _ I don’t know how to ask _ , Kyung wants to say, because he’s pretty damn sure that, like all the other times Kyung’d ever tried to bring up something serious, Jiho’s only going to change the topic and say that the hall’s too stuffy or he’s too sleepy or the run’d worn him out or something else that tells Kyung, just as loudly, that this isn’t something Jiho wanted to share.

//

Kyung’s touch on his leg  _ should _ ground him somewhat, it should bring him back down to earth, but it just compounds into his guilt into something physical that lodges itself his stomach, making his chest tighten like a vice as his breathing begins to speed up.

He knows the signs of an impending panic attack – he’s had them before, they sort of come as standard with the job – so he turns to Kyung and manages to gasp out, “bathroom,” not bothering to wait for a reply before getting up and slipping out into the lobby. He doesn’t head for the bathroom, however, instead spills out the front doors of the church, just barely managing to stumble around the side so he’s out of view before collapsing onto his hands and knees, sobs wracking his body from the inside out.    
He hyperventilates helplessly as he crawls forward and slumps against the wall of the church, drawing his legs close to him. He needs to go back inside because if Kyung finds him like this there will be  _ serious _ questions to answer, but he also knows that he needs to let it all out. The pastor’s words ring round and round in head, reverberating off his skull, making him shake uncontrollably, unable to contain it all any longer. All his guilt, all his sins, all his regret – all ripping through him, leaving him empty and mangled.


	6. Chapter 6

Kyung doesn’t know whether to follow him or not, doesn’t know if Jiho would prefer to be left alone to grieve or if he wants company or if he wants Kyung to belt the theme song to Sailor Moon at the top of his voice or anything else at all, really. And his not knowing, that indecision, stops him from moving even as both Jaehyo and Yukwon stare at him in confusion. 

“Aren’t you going to go after him?” Yukwon asks, his voice soft and careful, and Kyung heaves a sigh—one of relief—and he nods, stealing out of the room with an apologetic bow to his father. He makes a beeline for the bathroom located at the corridor to the side of the hall, but one of the lobby staff—one of the girl’s who’s closer to Yukwon than Kyung—stops him and says, “He went out,” and points her thumb in the direction of the door.

“Thanks!” Kyung hollers after her as he makes off in the opposite direction. So, not the bathroom. Maybe he just wanted a quiet place to cool off and take a little breather from— and then Kyung slips through the entrance of the building and the heavy wooden door nearly smacks face-first into Jiho. 

He doesn’t know what to do. That seemed to be a recurrent theme here—Kyung doesn’t like it one bit. It doesn’t matter now, though, because he lets his instincts take over and squats down, hands fluttering nervously over Jiho’s form as he licks his dry lips and accidentally blurts out a, “What the hell?”

//

Oh, Jesus, he hadn’t meant for Kyung to see him like this. He looks up at Kyung and shifts backwards, pressing himself into the bricks of the wall as his chest heaves, vibrating so much his teeth chatter uncontrollably. 

“S-sorry,” he stutters, screwing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at Kyung  _ looking _ at him like that. “G-go back-k inside. I’ll b-be fine in a m-minute.”

If the ground decided to open up and swallow him right now, take him down to Hell where he belongs, he would have no complaints. All he can focus on is his breathing – why is it so fast, why won’t it slow  _ down _ , oh God, he hopes he doesn’t fucking pass out right here in front of the church with Kyung by his side – that will be too much.

He digs his fingers into the skin on his forearms and tries to calm his breathing down – and it works, for a moment, but then he opens his eyes and sees Kyung and he starts all over again, starting to wheeze now. 

//

Kyung’s not a stranger to people essentially having a melt down in church. Spiritually motivated or not, people sink to their knees all the time in front of the pulpit, and it’s a sight that’s become so common to him that he no longer thinks twice of it except to offer the person a jacket or a pillow under their heads. 

This though? This has his heart in his godamn throat.

“Are you kidding me?” Kyung asks, but his tone is soft and filled with every bit the worry that he’s feeling, to the point that he sounds almost as shaky as Jiho. And then he swallows and inhales and puts his hands on Jiho—tentatively, at first, but then more solidly, as if his grip could bring Jiho back from the brink of wherever he was going. “I’ve got you.”

They’re empty words at best because what the hell does Kyung know? He’d been the one to bring this on when he invited Jiho despite  _ knowing _ what kind of memories Jiho’d associated church with. He’s at fault here, and god, he’s never regretted something more. 

So he repeats it again, a quiet but firm, “I’ve got you,” and draws Jiho into a hug, surges up so he can tuck Jiho’s head under his chin, holds on as tightly as he can, eyes closing with the want, no— the  _ need _ to absorb each and every one of Jiho’s shakes. In his head, he hears his own voice laced with wonderment and awe from that first night he looked down at Jiho laying bare under the moonlight, saying, “What the fuck are you?” Only now it’s not quite the same; now, he doesn’t know what to make of Jiho at all.

//

He clings onto Kyung like he’s drowning and Kyung is the only thing keeping his head above water, like he’s his salvation and his redemption and his deliverance all at once, and he knows it’s a lie – lies stacked upon lies stacked upon lies – but that’s okay, he can pretend just this once.

Slowly, slowly his breathing begins to slow and the shaking diminishes, until he’s finally breathing normally, the trembling reduced to just his hands. He pulls back from Kyung slightly, his eyes closed, and leans his head on the warm brick and breathes out in a huff. 

“I snotted on your shirt,” he mutters, wiping his nose on his sleeve messily, combing his hair over his face as best he can. “Sorry.”  

//

If this is god’s way of answering Kyung’s want to know more about Jiho, he doesn’t want it any more. He doesn’t want to see Jiho break in this way because it  _ hurts _ , it hurts like someone’s pressing on his achilles’ heel. 

“At least this isn’t over a hundred thousand won,” Kyung tries to joke, but he sounds weak, even to himself. Far too concerned, too invested, in too deep to turn back. “Might as well use the rest of it, right?” It’s one he’d gotten last Christmas from one of the gift exchanges, so it’s not like he has an actual sender to be apologetic to. Plus, snot comes off. So Kyung tugs at his sleeve until it’s covering his hand and uses the clean cloth to dab at Jiho’s face, as gently as he can. 

“We don’t have to go back in if you don’t want to,” Kyung says, just to fill up the silence since he doesn’t know where the fuck to start asking questions, “we can go? I’ll text Jaehyo or something.”

//

“No!” he replies, a bit too emphatically, his fingers clenching on Kyung’s shirt. “No. I won’t – don’t let me ruin this for you. I’m okay now. Promise.” He smiles weakly at Kyung at this.

It’s another lie, because of course it is; their whole relationship is built on a house of cards but he doesn’t have the strength to care at the moment, all he knows is he has to go inside and pretend to be normal for  _ Kyung’s _ sake. It’s something he’ll do gladly, because he knows he’s just made a scene, and he doesn’t  _ want _ that, he just wants to be normal – even if the thought of setting foot in a church again nearly makes his chest heave.

Kyung’s looking at him doubtfully so he smiles properly, turning up the wattage, although he’s sure he looks like shit – his face swells up dreadfully when he cries.

//

Kyung stares at Jiho for a moment, stares as if he can determine what pieces of the puzzle he’s missing, stares as if he can magically gain telepathy into the unseen depths of Jiho’s mind. It’s futile effort, of course, so he just collapses down next to Jiho, his back to the wall as well, their sides pressed tightly together.

“I’ve heard it all before, anyway,” Kyung says dismissively, and it sounds like a catch-all phrase for both his dad’s sermon and Jiho’s shitty, obviously false excuse. Kyung doesn’t blame him though, he’d made it all the way here, he just wants to make Kyung  _ happy _ . And that, perhaps, is the most cutting thought of all—that Jiho found it necessary to please Kyung at a time like this, that Jiho’s smile is forced, tugging wide at his cheeks like it’d been carved there. “‘sides, it’s a nice day out.” 

He grins at Jiho, then, trying to make up for Jiho’s plastered grin with a small one of his own, extending a hand to card his fingers through Jiho’s long hair. Funny how he’d just been thinking about how neat it looked today, how well put together. 

“ _ And _ ,” Kyung adds emphatically, just to dissipate the heavy atmosphere, “you look like I just punched you. Don’t want the guys to be getting the wrong idea.”

//

Jiho coughs a short bark of laughter at that, catching Kyung’s hand in his own and bringing it to his lips to kiss gently. “I could rough you up if you want. So we match.”

If Kyung doesn’t want him to go back inside – doesn’t want him to be seen like this – well, who is he to say no to that? This is  _ his _ stomping ground,  _ his _ rules, and Jiho is more than happy to obey. A short pang of guilt – separate to the heavy weight of it on his chest – flashes through him thinking of the way Jaehyo had stared worriedly after him as he’d made his escape; these people care about him too much for him to ever be comfortable enough because he cannot ever live up to their expectations. That thought hurts, more than he thought it could; more than anything he wishes he could be  _ normal _ and that he doesn’t know how to kill a man in twenty different ways using only your bare hands or, if you got inventive, a pair of shoelaces – but he’s not, and he won’t ever be, and it stings.

//

Kyung doesn’t point out that Jiho’s not really in a position to mess him up when he looks like he’d been to hell and back, so he just squeezes Jiho’s hand (his heart  _ squeezes _ when Jiho kisses his). It’s cold and clammy and Kyung feels wrecked with a sudden guilt, a sudden responsibility that he doesn’t know what to do with.

“You’re blaspheming when we’re standing right outside?” Kyung questions, tipping to the side so he can push himself up to kiss Jiho’s temple, and then the apple of his cheek, and then before he knows it, he’s made a trail of kisses down the side of Jiho’s face and he’s all too close and too full of affection for the stranger he’d met at the laundromat who continues to be a stranger every time Kyung thinks he’s gotten hold of a piece of Woo Jiho. 

He doesn’t want them to go on like this, though. Doesn’t want Jiho to so clearly bend to what he thinks Kyung wants. It’s not a good place to start, and will definitely not be a good place when they end. He wants this to start off clean, transparent, as easy as he can make it. Because if he’s so easily drawn to Jiho, then it only makes sense that the same follows throughout, right? 

So he sucks in a breath and asks, “Can you do me a favour?”

//

Now  _ that _ is a loaded question if ever he’s heard one – but because it’s Kyung, and it’s well-established by now that he would offer Kyung the world if he asked, hunt it down piece by piece just to see the look on his face when Jiho gave it to him, so he nods. “Anything.”

Kyung’s hand is soft and warm in his and it’s an anchor that he clings to, keeping him grounded, because he still feels a bit shaky and  _ off _ , not quite himself. It’s so idiotic – out of all the horrific things he’s seen a  _ church _ of all things being the one to set him off – but still he doesn’t want to go back inside, not really, not yet.

//

“See, that?” Kyung says, trying to sound gentle, but he ends up sounding like he’s trying to coax one of the kids to stop shaking Jaehyo’s ladder so Jaehyo doesn’t trip and fall:  _ hyung’s going to die if you keep doing that, so do me a favour and stop, okay? _ That’s not what he’s aiming for, so Kyung clears his throat and lifts his free hand to brush his knuckles to Jiho’s cheek to soften his words. “You need to stop doing that.”

He’s trying to think of an explanation, trying to think of a way to say that they need to exert equal force, and that Jiho can’t come running every time because then, Kyung feels unbalanced, feels like he’s shoehorning his way into things Jiho doesn’t quite want. Which would lead to this, again, to Jiho falling apart in Kyung’s arms, to Jiho’s face, now still blotchy and tear streaked and there’s a ring of snot on one of his nostrils and this just  _ will not do _ . 

“If you don’t wanna do something,” Kyung tries again, carefully this time, like he’s treading on less on eggshells and more like water. Ha. That’s a jesus joke if he’s ever made one. “Then tell me. Please.”

//

Kyung isn’t stupid in any sense of the word, so of course he’s noticed Jiho jumping when he says how high. Jiho’s tempted to brush it off, to dismiss it and distract Kyung by nipping at the patch of skin underneath his ear, but he stops himself. No, that’s not fair – it’s not fair on Kyung, it’s not fair on him, and lord knows he’s hiding enough.

Looking down at their knuckles just to have something to focus on, he takes a deep breath. “I thought… I thought I would be okay. I haven’t been in a church for five years now, and I… I genuinely thought I could handle it.” He looks at Kyung, tilts his head down so their noses brush, his hair falling over Kyung’s forehead. “I did want to come today, I promise.”

He hopes the truth this time is easy to swallow, because for once it’s all he has. It feels somewhat freeing, and some of the weight on his chest lifts.

//

There’s something about the rawness in Jiho’s voice that has Kyung blanching inwardly. At least he’s sure that Jiho doesn’t notice, sure that Jiho’s busy fighting whatever the hell that’s going on in his head right now to pay much heed to Kyung, try as he might. Which is a good thing. Which means that Kyung can recover quickly and curve his hand over Jiho’s cheek, can look at him consideringly, for a long moment, and then lean up to kiss him softly and sweetly, chastely, least because he’s sitting in front of his godamn church, but because he doesn’t want to show Jiho anything else but this right now: pure, unadulterated concern, 100% dosage of affection that he hopes he’s administering enough for Jiho to understand.

“Thanks,” he mumbles against Jiho’s lips. For someone as private as Jiho is, for someone who barely has any of his own belongings littering his apartment except his sketchbook, for someone who holds onto himself so tightly, Kyung can only guess how hard this really was. “And I’m glad you did, instead of—”

He never gets to finish the rest of his sentence, because then Ahn Jaehyo’s busting out of the entrance—nearly fucking  _ kills _ them both, too, they have got to move elsewhere—glancing wildly around as if expecting to find Kyung dead on the lawn. 

“Holy shit,” Jaehyo says, and then laughs in relief. “I thought both of you’d died.”

//

Jiho jumps as Jaehyo appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and scrambles to his feet haphazardly, wiping his nose on his sleeve and stretching a grin across his features. “Not dead.” 

He doesn’t quite know how to explain what happened – why he’d run out so dramatically – and doesn’t quite know if him and Jaehyo are close enough to tell the truth (or at least, the truth that Kyung’s getting), but at the same time he doesn’t think Kyung will approve if he lies to one of his best friends. He likes Jaehyo, he does, but he feels that if he tells the truth he’ll just be digging his own grave. Pushing his hair back from his face, conscious of Kyung’s eyes on him, he looks down at the ground and then back up at Jaehyo again –  

And decides to trust.

“Churches aren’t really… They’re hard for me.” He raises one shoulder in a shrug, trying for nonchalance but just probably coming off as sad. “I had a minor freak-out, but I’m okay now."

//

Jiho moves so quickly that he nearly gives Kyung whiplash, not only physically, but in his shift of emotions. Then again, as long as Jiho’s wearing a smile that’s genuine (seems to, at least? hopefully? Kyung can pray), Kyung honestly doesn’t give a shit. The confession comes tumbling out Jiho and Kyung doesn’t even know if he’s hearing that right or the door  _ did _ hit him and he’s now in some sort of weird limbo where Jiho talks about his feels as freely as he was now.

But he’s not. Because then Ahn Jaehyo’s sliding him the dirtiest, most smuggest look he’s seen to date—and he’s seen a lot of those, Jaehyo knows too much about him for him to ever be able to get away with things scot-free—before proceeding to pat Jiho on the shoulder, saying, “It’s overwhelming, I get it. I was just worried, since  _ Kyung _ here’s not very good at comforting people. When I was injured last week, he told me I was a liability and should consider transferring my consciousness into a robot body.” Jaehyo snorts in Kyung’s general direction before glancing back at Jiho, concerned. “We have food and drinks inside… and, uh, chairs?”

“Eloquent,” Kyung cuts in, feeling something like jealousy, although he’s not sure what there is to be jealous about. That’s not quite it exactly, either; he’s glad that Jiho’s opening up with relative ease, compared to the tightly-wound man he’d first met, and there’s something about Jaehyo that makes it easy to do just that. But Kyung’d wanted to keep that for himself, even if just for a while.  _ Oh, well _ , he thinks, and takes Jiho’s hand again. 

“Shut up,” Jaehyo tells him, clapping his hand firmly over Jiho’s shoulder this time. They’re glaring at each other openly over Jiho, now, the way they do with just about everything else: the last chicken wing at dinner, the person who has to take out the trash, and even over Kyung’s mom, sometimes. “He likes me, right? Or you wouldnt’ve drawn  _ me _ .”

//

“Oh Christ,” Jiho moans, stepping between Kyung and Jaehyo and not caring that he’s just blasphemed on the steps of a church (it’s just another one to add to the list). “I knew showing you that sketchbook was a mistake,” he remarks to Kyung. 

Kyung turns to him, surprised, but there’s no malice in his words and they exchange a smile so  _ comfortable  _ that it has Jaehyo making gagging noises and spinning on his heel with a huff, heading back inside as quickly as his legs take him. Without hesitation, Jiho casts an eye about to see if anyone’s watching – thankfully no one is spilling out of the doors just yet – and pulls Kyung close, taking his head between his hands and kissing him softly, just for a moment, trying to pack as many emotions into it as he can –  _ thanks for coming to find me _ and  _ I’m sorry I had a panic attack  _ and  _ thank you for letting me open up  _ and  _ I love you – _

Woah. Alright. Jiho’s glad he didn’t verbalise that last one as he pulls back and trails his hand from Kyung’s face down over his shoulder and arm to intertwine their fingers, because he knows if he spends too much time on it he will probably end up having another mental breakdown, although this for entirely different reasons. It’s easy to see why he’d thought it, though, with Kyung looking slightly dazed from the kiss, his hair blowing gently in the breeze and glowing in the sunlight, his pupils wide with awe.

“Let’s head inside?” he asks instead, squeezing Kyung’s hand gently.

//

If their first kiss had been a heated affair of inexplicable lust, then this one's a mark of how much Kyung has grown to adore Jiho. It's warm outside, the sun blazing everything in its path, but Kyung's chest is even warmer, burning hot with all his unspoken affection for Woo Jiho and whatever the hell he'd just done to Kyung. 

"Gimme a moment to recover," Kyung says dramatically, not quite lying either. He grins up at Jiho, just enjoying the still morning. In the background, he can hear the crowded murmur of the congregation dispersing, of the sounds of a kid laughing in the distance, of the sounds of cars zooming past them, and yeah, this feels a lot like a new beginning. 

"Ready to be harassed?" Kyung asks next, turning the question back onto Jiho as he starts leading him back into the entrance, where the lobby is already filling up with people. He doesn't stop to talk, though, only waves politely when someone calls him out, because Jaehyo's right: Jiho looked like he needed some food and a warm drink in him.

//

Jiho feels slightly out of his element as Kyung takes him back inside. They’re still holding hands and again he doesn’t know what’s right and what’s wrong here so he takes a deep breath as he crosses the threshold this time, resisting the urge to cross himself, conscious of all the curious eyes on him. If Kyung wants to hold his hand Jiho isn’t going to pull away, reminding himself that this is  _ Kyung’s _ realm and he is just going to follow his lead.

He can see that Taeil has woken up now, and is standing with Jaehyo and the other man, who’s looking at Jaehyo adoringly. He raises an eyebrow archly as they amble up to the group – something’s going on there. 

//

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Jaehyo asks, the moment Kyung and Jiho approach them. Kyung's tempted to roll his eyes, but he doesn't want this is to be an unpleasant experience for Jiho. And besides, every alternating conversation Kyung had with Jaehyo was a screaming match, so that part of their friendship can wait. 

"We've met before, right?" Taeil asks, adjusting his glasses as though he really needed them to see. He sticks a hand out, and that's how Kyung knows Jiho'd passed the preliminary round of Taeil's judging. He usually preferred to cross his arms and stay quiet, like some sort of compact bodyguard, but really, he's just disinterested.

"This feels weird," Kyung confesses as he watches Jiho take Taeil's hand and they measure each other up. "Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

"I'm Taeil," he continues, as if Kyung hadn't spoken at all. "You know Jaehyo. This is Yukwon—" to his left, Yukwon waves shyly, but his eyes sparkle with an interest Kyung can only hope Jaehyo doesn't use to mislead him later; he doesn't want  _ everyone _ to know how they'd met "—and now that we're done with that... you're dating Kyung?" Taeil's tone is incredulous, and Kyung would smack him if Taeil didn't have twice his muscle mass.

//

Jiho’s smiling and shaking Taeil’s hand (with only the barest airs of testosterone-fuelled squaring off; Taeil is, despite his height, built like a brick) until Taeil opens his mouth and speaks the words Jiho had expected, but had been dreading. “...you’re dating Kyung?” he asks.

Jiho’s grin stretches even wider, if that’s possible, and he can feel everyone’s eyes swivel to look at him – Taeil with an eyebrow raised, somewhat incredulously; Jaehyo, with a massive smirk on his face (how much does he know?); Yukwon, peering on eagerly; but most importantly, Kyung staring at him, waiting to see what his response is.

Dropping Taeil’s hand, he hooks his arm around Kyung’s neck and pulls him close somewhat playfully, daring this touch but resisting the urge to kiss him on the temple. “I sure hope so,” he replies, looking down at Kyung happily.

//

It’s the first time Jiho’d decidedly initiated contact with Kyung, so that  _ and _ the confession (is it really a confession? does it really count if they’ve technically touched each other’s dicks more times than they’ve talked about their feelings? the agreement’s kind of silently mutual, but for Kyung, nothing beats the loudness of confirmation) are doubly as lethal, and Kyung finds himself speechless as he beams back up at Jiho again. That alone is response enough, really, that Kyung’s smiling so hard his eyes are curved into non-existence.

“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” Kyung says, but he wraps his arm around Jiho’s waist—and they fit well, they do. It’s not even about a physical thing, like gears interlocking or puzzle pieces slotting into place. It’s that he feels like he can lean on Jiho and trust that Jiho will catch him. He just hope the same applies vice versa. 

“But last week you said—” Jaehyo starts, and Kyung has to immediately lurch forward to slap a hand over his mouth. Damn him for being so tall. And damn Kyung for never learning his lesson when it comes to Jaehyo and blackmail. Yukwon, bless his soul, elbows Jaehyo too, but it’s with that  _ look _ in his eye that he does it. The look that suggests that he thinks the sun shines from Jaehyo’s ass (spoiler: Jaehyo’s ass is on his face, because he talks a lot of shit), and it’s a look that suggests that he would go to extremes to find and reach for Jaehyo. Kyung wonders if that expression is as transparent on him as it is on Yukwon.

//

Jiho looks between Jaehyo and Kyung, his head moving like he's watching a game of tennis. "No, share." He steps forward and peels Kyung's hand from Jaehyo's mouth, grinning evilly. "What did you say?"

He enjoys putting Kyung on the spot, even if it's just some playful banter – the way Kyung goes red, blushing fiercely, warms him on the inside and he laughs, amazed at how his mood could do a complete 180 in such a short space of time. He is, of course, conscious that they're in  _ church _ and that he's still not worthy of being in here, of facing God in any way – he's just choosing to ignore it, because there are other things more important right now and his guilt can wait.

//

Kyung knows it’s futile to try and fend Jiho off. For one, Jiho’s twice his height. The second thing’s that Jiho’s  _ grinning _ again, eyes sparkling with excitement as he holds Kyung back to address Jaehyo. Both of them stand eye-to-eye (godamn their genes, too), so it’s hard for Kyung to intervene when Jaehyo leans over to whisper whatever devilry he does to Jiho.

He doesn’t know what Jaehyo’s going to say, whether it’s the fact that Kyung had accidentally talked about him approximately fifty times the past week, or whether it’s Kyung’s feelings on the recounting of Jiho’s apartment and the roof and the changing room (though certain details have been retained), or if it’s even the fact that Kyung, at some sleep-deprived, academic-choked point had said, “I’m going to run away with Woo Jiho.” It could honestly be any one of them and they would all be equally as bad.

What he doesn’t know is that Jaehyo says  _ he really likes you _ and  _ please take care of him _ and  _ Taeil can crush a man’s head between his pecs _ , but he pulls away grinning like what he’d said was  _ Kyung sleeptalked about you _ and Kyung wants to  _ kick _ him but they’re in a public space and he has an image to uphold.

“Don’t listen to him,” Kyung immediately cuts in, as Jaehyo backs away with a shit-eating grin.

//

Jiho laughs and pulls Kyung close, touching his face briefly – just for a second, trying to convey as much affection in that one brushing touch as he can.

"What if I told you he only had nice things to say?" Jiho asks, but he can tell in the way Kyung's eyebrows raise incredulously that he doesn't believe him and that Jaehyo is also probably going to get his ass kicked later. "Do you still not want me to listen to him?"

Jaehyo's words have made him feel warm and happy in some spot behind his bellybutton, the warmth spreading through his limbs, making everything look sort of surreal. He's not worried about the half-joking threat about Taeil's pecs – even if he believes it – because –

Oh.

For a moment – a brief, blissful moment – Jiho had forgotten what he does, what he  _ is. _ He'd forgotten that he's not an art student, he'd forgotten that he isn't normal, he'd forgotten that he can't make any promises about not hurting Kyung because he's walking a tightrope every moment they're together and one of these days he's going to fall and it's all going to come crashing down. The illusion of what never was, what never could be, will slip through his fingers and all these people will be caught in the fallout, but still he cannot bring it in himself to walk away because he's hooked now, hooked on the pretence of normalcy. He doesn't miss a beat, though, and winks happily at Kyung, even if he feels like he's dying inside.

//

“It’s a good rule of thumb: never trust Ahn Jaehyo,” Kyung says, who ironically probably trusts Ahn Jaehyo the most. Jaehyo makes a sound of indignant disgust and covers Yukwon’s ears, but he’s grinning enough that Kyung knows he doesn’t have to elaborate. Their group disperses after that, with Kyung leading Jiho in the direction of the food stalls.

The middle-aged ladies manning it are always the same—loud-mouthed and friendly and they know every member of the regular congregation by heart. Paying for his snacks was a battle each and every time, where Kyung had to  _ insist _ they take the money and they would  _ insist _ he take the food free of charge. Today, though, is different because their eyes first fixate of his hand in Jiho’s.

“Who’s  _ this? _ ” they ask, and Kyung winces because it’s one thing to introduce Jiho to the likes of his friends; it’s another thing for news of them dating to be relayed to them. They’d seen him in every stage of his dating life—from awkward puberty to awkward teenagehood and even awkward young adulthood, actually. The same two-step routine usually happened; Kyung gets attached, they ask said person questions as if they were hiring a bodyguard for the president. It’s not a bad thing, Kyung knows they mean the best, but with Jiho, Kyung finds himself floundering.

“Uh,” Kyung says, dragging the word out to buy time.

//

Plastering a fake smile on his face and praying that Kyung won’t notice, he allows himself to be tugged over to the food stalls, feeling his stomach rumble. He’d expected some questions, of course, but when the middle aged ladies who look at Kyung maternally ask who he is, Kyung stalls, drawing out a noise that makes Jiho’s heart hurt. Again, he doesn’t want to identify himself as Kyung’s boyfriend, or that they’re dating or whatever, because it’s not his place.

So he steps forward and nods. “I’m Jiho,” he smiles, not really knowing why Kyung isn’t introducing him but playing along somewhat helplessly. 

He leaves it like that, just his name, not flagging himself as either Kyung’s friend or his boyfriend because – well, that’s for Kyung to decide.

//

Kyung’s unsure if he’s more disappointed or relief that Jiho doesn’t introduce himself as Kyung’s date. Granted, it’s a weird notion to have when this is church and they’re eyeing him like they’re about to see right through Jiho’s skull and into whatever they’re thinking. 

“It’s his first time here,” Kyung adds, because he doesn’t think tacking on the  _ boyfriend _ after Jiho’d technically gone out of his way to say it would be a nice thing to do. “So he’ll have your specialty?” Kyung glances over at Jiho for confirmation—and his grin seems more tacked on now, than earlier, and Kyung’s stomach flips a little uncomfortably. “And the rice drink, yeah that one. Thanks.”

He pays for them both—it’s not much, they charge very little because they’re not paying rent—then takes both bags in one hand, using the other to guide Jiho along through the throngs of people now filling up the foyer. He leads them to the back of the building, to a locked sliding glass door. Outside is a winding staircase up to the second floor balcony. Kyung holds a finger up, telling Jiho to wait, as he jimmies the door open with a way he’d figured out a long time ago as a teenager.

//

Jiho lets Kyung lead him, food in hand, through a locked door that he jimmies open and then up some stairs, spilling out onto a balcony, the sunshine wreathing them, making Kyung’s hair glow.

He wants to kiss Kyung so badly, needs to  _ feel _ him and know that they’re alright because Jiho doesn’t  _ feel _ alright but instead he follows Kyung’s lead and folds to the floor, pulling the food out of his back and opening it, picking up his chopsticks awkwardly, completely out of his element.

“So…” he begins, his brain not catching up to what his mouth is saying. “We’re dating now?”

He hates himself for being so painfully awkward, hates the way his sentence trails off hopefully – but he can’t stop himself because he needs to know what they are, needs to at least have an adult conversation. 

//

Kyung wants to tease, but all variations of  _ are we? _ and  _ didn’t you say we were, just now? _ and  _ you tell me? _ drains out of him when he sees that Jiho’s not entirely too sure of himself, either. Has Kyung been so caught up in his own flurry of feelings for Jiho that he hadn’t noticed this from the get go? Hadn’t noticed that Jiho, like Kyung, was treading carefully in uncharted territory as well? 

“Yeah,” Kyung says easily, making sure to shut the door again before plopping down across Jiho. He kicks off his leather loafers, his good church shoes, revealing bright green socks with a hole right at the tip of his right foot, then crosses his legs under him.

It’s easier to say this, and then be rejected later. Rejection isn’t easy, but it’s clear cut and tells you what you can or you cannot do. This limbo he had with Jiho right now felt far worse than straight out being told that Jiho doesn’t like him like that. So he shoves himself closer and stretches his legs across Jiho’s thighs so they’re perpendicular to each other, stealing Jiho’s chopsticks so he can unwrap his kimbap to feed himself the first piece, and it’s through a mouthful of food that he says, “There’s no turning back for you now, you know that right? You’re stuck with me.”

//

Jiho’s instant reaction is to blush – he doesn’t know why considering they’ve been as intimate as it’s ever possible to be with each other, but he can’t help the heat that crawls up his neck and turns his ears red. He tips his head and shoves a ball of rice in his mouth deliberately so he has to think through his words.

“Good,” he begins, swallowing. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.”

_ Until you find out and run for the hills _ , he finishes in his head, completely torn in two – his heart soaring at the knowledge that this is mutual and that he now has a proper label for what they are – he has a  _ boyfriend, _ which is a weird but not unwelcome thought – but crashing at the knowledge that this can’t be forever like Kyung thinks, like he  _ wants _ . He touches Kyung’s knee gently, resisting the urge to run his hand up Kyung’s thigh, to touch him to  _ forget _ .

//

“Are you blushing?” Kyung asks, watching the flush spread from Jiho’s neck to his cheeks to his ears. He doesn’t think he’d ever seen a lovelier sight, and he’d once gone on a trip where he had a room on a mountain that overlooked the sunrise and sunset. He wasn’t much of a morning person, but every single day of that trip he was, just to see the universe paint their skies in shades of golds and oranges and blues. He’d taken a picture then, because he didn’t think he’d ever see something quite as breathtaking again.

As it turns out, he’s pretty damn wrong. 

He does the same now, though, sets his kimbap on the ground carefully and tilts towards Jiho so he can pull his phone out of his pocket to turn on the camera. Then he’s gesturing for Jiho to come closer with an arm hooked around Jiho’s neck. 

“It’s not official until we get a picture together,” Kyung says, but really, he just wants an excuse to look at Jiho for the times Jiho can’t be around. Not that he’s going to say any of that aloud. And then he’s grinning, pressing his face up next to Jiho’s, the screen crammed full with both their faces. He waits until the last moment (“1, 2, 3—”) before turning so he’s kissing Jiho’s cheek instead.

//

“Oh, god…” Jiho groans, but plays along anyway, sliding his arm around Kyung’s waist and smiling for the camera, his eyes widening as Kyung kisses him on the cheek.

“Give me that.” He tugs gently at the phone as Kyung holds it over his head in a weak attempt to prevent him; all he has to do is stretch and grab it and it’s his. The picture is really fucking adorable, and he realises he hasn’t seen a photo of himself in so long; with the sun in his face his hair looks bright, luminescent; they both look  _ happy _ . “Cool,” he mutters, sending himself the picture.

“What are you –” Kyung begins, but Jiho puts a finger over his lips, pulling out his own phone and setting the photo as his lock screen background, showing Kyung triumphantly, with a huge grin on his face. 

“Isn’t that what couples do?” He asks, watching Kyung’s expression change. “Or have I been watching too many dramas?”

//

Kyung tries to tamp down on his stupid happiness—it’s just a picture, there’s no cause to get weirdly excited about it. But then again, it’s a picture of him and Jiho, and in it Jiho’s wearing a grin Kyung doesn’t want to see him without again, and Kyung’s kissing him, not in a way that indicated lust or urgent want or whatever that was the first time they’d met, but it’s just this: Jiho and Kyung, content to sit side by side.

He’s pretty sure the grin on his  _ own _ face is now permanently stuck there, cheeks warm with a sort of pleasure he hadn’t felt for a while, now. One that he’d thought he’d grown out of, but that evidently wasn’t true in the slightest. Not when you have Woo Jiho to break the notions he’d thought he had.

“Is this your first time?” Kyung jokes, raising an eyebrow as he focuses on doing the exact same as Jiho: changing his wallpaper into the picture of them. Jiho was far too experienced for this to really be his first time dating, anyway. And at any rate, there’s no way someone who looked like  _ that _ could’ve been single all his life. “Are you asking me to teach you how to date?”

//

Jiho realises, startled, that yes, this  _ is _ the first relationship he’s been in in his adult life – the last one was years ago, a boy from his high school with doe eyes and full lips and all the personality of a stone; but he’d been pretty and had sucked cock well enough so it did, for the time being. After that he’d been in the army, where he was so focused on work he couldn’t even  _ think _ about sex or even anything beyond that, and then once he got out – the Organisation had found him, and they don’t exactly encourage relationships. He’s only just realising  _ why _ , though, and it’s a little terrifying and exhilarating all at once – never before has he felt this vulnerable, this  _ weak _ . He realises that he should probably share this anecdote with Kyung, because at least it will make him surprised, and he looks adorable when he’s surprised.

“No, actually,” he replies as he holds their phones up side by side, marvelling at how cute they look. “I haven’t… You’re my first since high school, really.” 

//

Kyung chokes on the food he’d been eating, thumping his chest in an attempt to get the rice out of his windpipe so he doesn’t suffocate on  _ kimbap _ . 

“You’re kidding, right?” he blurts, sniffing and wiping at his tears. Because there’s no way Jiho can be serious, but at the same time, there’s a high possibility that he is and Kyung’s being a complete asshole. It’s just difficult to fathom when Kyung’s attraction to him had been so helpless,  _ is _ so helpless, that he can do nothing but gravitate towards Jiho, and the idea that no one else had ever thought the same seemed impossible. “I mean—you’re… you’re hot.” 

Okay, so that hadn’t come out the way he’d intended to, but he’s pretty sure talk, dark, good looking art majors tended to be snatched off the shelves first.

//

“Er,” he begins, putting his food down so he can pat Kyung on the back as he coughs and splutters. “I tend to keep to myself,” he says when he’s sure Kyung isn’t going to choke to death, shrugging. “I wasn’t really interested in dating... Until I met you.” He smiles happily, aware he probably has rice stuck in his teeth. 

He’d expected surprise, but damn. Is it really that hard to believe when, the first time they’d met, Jiho was approximately 0.2 seconds from throwing Kyung into a washing machine and breaking some bones? He’s warmed up to strangers, yes – they don’t freak him out as much as he used to, which is both a blessing and a curse because he has a very high risk of getting  _ killed _ and not trusting anyone is what’s got him this far in life – but he’s still suspicious of everyone, and the reaction Kyung had got in the laundromat is actually  _ better _ than what usually happened to people who tried to talk to him. 

“What’s your number, then?” He asks, nudging Kyung with an elbow, his eyes twinkling. There’s no way Kyung got  _ that _ good at sucking cock by being pure and virginal, and he’s curious just how much experience Kyung has had with dating people – considering he’s lost and feels like he’s flailing around helplessly most of the time.

//

It’s a good question, but one that Kyung doesn’t really know how to answer, even if it was something that came up every time he was in the preliminary stages of a relationship. Besides, answers differed—if someone asked Kyung how many people he’d dated in his life, he’d say a grand total of two and a half. But if someone had asked  _ Jaehyo _ how many people Kyung’d dated in his life, Jaehyo would probably invite that person to sit with him over a six-pack can of beer.

“Three,” Kyung says, finally, deciding to round it up anyway. His high school experiences were… interesting, to say the least, but had faded away into anecdotes he told when he was particularly wasted. Neither of those had ended well—with one culminating in the guy cheating on Kyung, and the second one in a messy long-distance affair. “I broke up with my ex last year. We were together for, uh, a year? It just… wasn’t working out.” They’d met in their first year in uni, and she was pretty and nice and volunteered at the dog shelter on the weekends. But that’s all it’d been, for them—a series of dates where they held hands and took nice photos. If Jiho was the blazing warmth of sunrise, she was a still dusk, quiet and pleasant.  _ And _ easy to sleep through. 

This, on the other hand, the frisson of pleasure Kyung feels when he slides his arm around Jiho’s shoulders to lean against him just because he  _ can _ , this feels different; it may be uncharted territory, but it’s exciting territory. And after the quiet disintegration of his last relationship, Kyung’s starting to realize why he wants this so badly.

//

“Mmmm,” Jiho mumbles through a mouthful of food, an instinctual reaction to Kyung touching him. “I don’t know if that’s high or low.” 

And he doesn’t, not really. Kyung gives off an air of – of experience, of confidence, even if sometimes he looks at Jiho like he has a second head (which is fine, he’s used to that). Sometimes he feels as if he’s  _ falling _ into Kyung, lead by him forward into the abyss, which is perhaps a bit dramatic for what they are but they’ve never hit pause, not since they started, so maybe it’s justified after all.

He leans his head on the glass of the door and closes his eyes, drinking in the sunshine, feeling it warm his face and his insides both at once. Despite his panic attack earlier – and no doubt the impending wave of guilt that will crash over him when he gets home – he feels completely content, happy to stay here forever, not moving.

And then he nearly leaps out of his skin as someone knocks at the door behind him. Scrambling to his feet and backing away, his fingers reaching for his knife before realising he doesn’t  _ have _ it, all he has is the tiny one in his boot, he realises it’s the pastor, his expression unreadable. 

//

“What the hell—” Kyung starts, and then stops when he catches sight of his father and starts laughing instead because Jiho looks so  _ guilty _ of having been caught in a position that isn’t even compromising. He realizes then that he hadn’t really told Jiho that this is  _ his _ church in a very literal sense of the word. But there’s no time to think about that now; the likelihood that his father’s going to be pissed that he’s been caught slacking off out back is more likely than the fact that he’s caught with Jiho. That may be his only redeeming factor, instead. “It’s only my dad.”

Moving to open the door again, Kyung steps aside to let his father in. He knows how his father will be—how his father always is, with new people—serious, but kind, with just the right amount of humorous. It’s a standard formula that Kyung’d seen develop over time, and it’s one that works. With Jiho, however, his eyes scan over him critically, doubtfully, and Kyung wonders if his dad had stopped to make conversation with his friends. 

“Hey, aren’t you busy inside?” Kyung greets, to which his father swiftly counters with a, “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?”

“I thought I wasn’t on the payroll,” Kyung jokes, moving over to stand on Jiho’s side because Jiho looks like he’s about to shit himself. “This is Jiho, by the way, he’s, uh—” Kyung sucks in a deep breath; as much as they’re on good terms, as much as they’ve worked hard to be on good terms, and Kyung’s already luckier than most, he’s still slightly afraid that his dad wouldn’t approve “—we’re seeing each other?”

“You mean you’re  _ not _ sure if you are or not?” his father returns, and that’s how Kyung knows that the coast is clear. For now. Kyung has no doubt he’s going to be dodging questions the next time they have dinner together. At least Jiho doesn’t have to be there when it happens. At least his father sticks his hand out and offers Jiho a warm smile (it’s same smile as Kyung’s; the kind people say he gets from his dad) and says, “If he hasn’t told you yet, I’m his dad. It’s nice to meet you.”

//

Jiho nearly faints dead away when Kyung says “it’s only my dad.” 

Right. Okay. That’s quite an important fact that Kyung had neglected to mention; that he’s a pastor’s son. All the guilt that he’d pushed away comes rushing back at once although he’s not sure  _ why _ . As he watches the back and forth between Kyung and his dad, feels Kyung’s father’s eyes on him, scrutinising him down to every last detail, he debates the pros and cons of leaping off the balcony – a broken leg vs the pain of being judged, which he is, right now. Absurdly he hopes his t-shirt covers the tattoo on his collarbone, resists the urge to reach up and adjust it. It’s not like it  _ matters _ – look at Taeil – but this is Kyung’s  _ father _ , not just any old pastor, and he wants to make a good impression. Instead he just stands there, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, feeling small and miserable. 

“Nice to meet you too,” he replies when spoken to, snapping out of it and taking Kyung’s dad’s hand with a smile that’s as genuine he can make it, hoping he’s fooling them both. “Your church is beautiful.” 

What had they told him in the beginning of his training? No matter how scared he felt, no matter how unprepared or nervous, all he had to do was fake confidence and it would come. So that’s what he does now, smiling in a pretense of happiness and gripping Kyung’s dad’s hand strongly, wishing he could disappear for the second time in a day.

//

“That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not my church. I’m glad Kyung’s been showing you around,” Kyung’s father points out cordially, his standard refrain. Honestly, Kyung could start a phrase book of his dad’s favourite go-to reactions, if he weren’t afraid of being disowned. 

Kyung can practically feel the nervousness emanating from Jiho in waves, despite the smile on his face. He’s torn between amusement and wanting to help Jiho out, because it’s technically his fault that they’re in this predicament right now. Besides, Kyung knows that if he lets his father keep talking, he’s going to start askin— “If you’re free later, why not join us for dinner?”

There it is. Kyung likes to imagine it the way his dad sounds when he says it: The Dinner, complete with caps and its own organ music. Jaehyo calls it the Park Family Litmus test, but really it’s an uncomfortable affair for his date—and Kyung’s had a few, none of which ever turn out well enough. His family are nice until they learn that Kyung wants to date them, because apparently Kyung “is a bad judge of character” and “didn’t you date that guy who cheated on you?”

“He’s got, uh, an exhibition, later,” Kyung says, lying through his teeth, and he’s pretty sure his father can tell, but the lie is pretty telling in itself:  _ we’re feeling things out and I don’t know where this is going so don’t ask me until I do. _

//

Jiho shrugs and runs a hand through his hair somewhat apologetically. "Yeah, I'm studying art at the university on the other side of the city." The lie comes so easily to him now he doesn't even have to try – even if he's pretty sure Kyung's dad has caught on. "I'd love to take you up on that offer another time, though."

He wouldn't, of course, that's a bald-faced lie, but he has to be polite because it's Kyung's  _ dad _ even if he's so terrified he feels like he's going to keel over.

It's just a testament to how much Kyung has got under his skin; he's done the most absurd of things, shit lifted straight from a James Bond film... And yet here he was, sweating bullets at the thought of having dinner with Kyung's family. Now is the time he would lament the fact he's gotten so weak and so quickly but he doesn't even  _ care _ anymore.

//

Kyung barely suppresses his snort and makes it his number one priority to relate to Jiho all his other accounts of The Dinner (like the time his mother had spent an hour grilling Juyong’s cooking techniques because she’d uttered the phrase “I bake, sometimes?”), but his father catches on anyway and gives him a look. And then a second look, that suggested that Kyung should forget whatever he’s thinking of and bring Jiho to dinner as soon as possible.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Kyung says, scooting over to place his hands on his father’s shoulders, to which his father gives him yet another unimpressed look. “Don’t you have to go inside? Isn’t mom calling you? I think I hear mom calling you.”

“The door’s made of glass,” his dad points out. Standing on this side makes Kyung significantly more aware that they’re both shorter than Jiho—with dark hair and pale skin and the sort of grin that made people think that their ancestors probably made a living out of being salesmen.

“I’m on a date,” Kyung returns bluntly, gesturing at Jiho, “it’ll be nice if you could leave me to it.”

“Don’t talk to your father like that,” his dad argues, but it’s superfluous; he doesn’t mean it, and neither does Kyung. “When are  _ you _ coming home for dinner?” 

“Next week, alright?” His father opens his mouth again, and Kyung makes a loud sound and interrupts with a, “And I’ll try to bring Jiho. Right?” The last question’s directed at Jiho, who’s standing with his arms stiffly by his side, looking like he’s going to sweat himself to death under his leather jacket. It makes Kyung want to kiss him—Kyung’s affection swelling to some sort of weird crescendo—to tell him that his parents would probably like him if Kyung does, and there’s no need to be so godamn nervous. It’s not like he has anything to hide.

//

He smiles politely and says goodbye as Kyung's dad leaves through the sliding door, at which point he sits down heavily (he likes to think his knees don't give out from underneath him, but they do), reaching for his now-cold food in order to have his hands be busy. 

What the  _ fuck _ has he gotten himself into? How could things have changed so much in the short space of a month? Back then he was continuing down the path he's been on for the past three years – tetchy, irritable, on a hair-trigger ready to get into a fight with anyone who looks at him funny, avoiding the day like a fucking vampire... And now he's opened up, turned inside out, all the love that he's been bottling up for so long spilling out into Kyung, into the both of them... It's almost too much to think about, and he takes a deep, shaky breath, shoving some kimbap in his mouth and chewing hurriedly to stop  _ thinking _ so much.

He's so keyed up on edge that he wants to  _ fight _ or  _ fuck _ or do both and he knows the best outlet for him when he's feeling like this is to go fighting. He'd given it up as a career when he got hired by the Organisation, but he occasionally stepped into the ring from time to time when he needed an outlet for his feelings that was a healthy alternative to killing people. All of a sudden he realises he misses it, being in the octagon with nothing but his opponent, nothing but the thought of  _ winning _ , and it's such a contrasting thought to the location they're in that he closes his eyes, unable to stand it all.

//

He can tell that his father has more to say, but Kyung’d seen Jiho pale considerably and all but plop down onto the ground the moment his father turned his back, so he tries to keep conversation short and sends him off with a smile and a bow. By the time he shimmies back through the gap, he finds Jiho eating kimbap with an intensity he’s sure kimbap doesn’t induce in other people.

“You alright?” Kyung asks, for the second time that day. He’s starting to think that it’s a phrase that he’s going to be well-acquainted with, because Jiho’s different with Kyung than he is with other people. He had, after all, tried to kill Kyung at a laundromat, and he  _ had _ freaked the hell out when he’d seen his purported cousin. But then he’d been spectacular with Kyung’s friends, dazzling them almost as much as he did Kyung, so really, Kyung doesn’t know what to think. Jiho’s like one of those thousand-piece puzzles Kyung’d tried so hard to conquer as a kid, convinced that there was some formulaic way to beat it; every time he thought he’d found a way, he’d only found another way to be wrong. 

All thoughts of wanting to kiss Jiho fade into the background, so he puts an arm around Jiho’s shoulders again—a mostly futile attempt, since Jiho’s as broad as he is tall—and says, “You did well. I can tell he likes you.” He offers Jiho’s a comforting grin, not even  _ sure _ of how to move on from here. One thing he’s more sure of, though, is that it’d been a mistake to ask Jiho along.

//

"Yeah," Jiho says, shoving more food in his mouth and chewing hurriedly, swallowing and reaching for more.

They sit in awkward silence for a bit, and he can feel Kyung's eyes on him – so he puts his chopsticks down with a quiet sigh. "I'm okay. I just – I didn't expect to meet your father. I didn't expect to have a panic attack." He meets Kyung's eyes and smiles, hand coming up to caress Kyung's face. "I'll be okay. It's just all a shock."

Kyung's still looking at him doubtfully so he smiles softly, hand moving to settle on the back of Kyung's neck so he can pull him closer, so their lips are barely touching. "Promise."

And then he's kissing Kyung the way he's wanted to since they sat outside – not desperate, not pawing at each other, just a slow, sweet burn that feels so right here on the balcony, sunlight wreathing them like a halo, the taste of Kyung's lips so familiar and comforting, grounding him.

//

It’s hard to stay worried and concerned and try to generally be a good person when Jiho’s kissing him even if the kiss tasted mostly of kimbap. It’s the first time all day, and possibly in full view of anyone who’s looking out the backdoor, but Kyung finds that he doesn’t give a shit when Jiho’s kissing him like this, like Kyung’s. Instead, he shifts himself so he can press himself up against Jiho, arm curling around his waist in a way that feels more proprietary for him than for Jiho, probably. 

It’s slow and lazy and it’s different from the way they kissed at Jiho’s apartment, the week before, and when they break apart all Kyung can do is grin up at him dopily, eyes scanning the details of Jiho’s face. His face is becoming one that Kyung’s quickly starting to find as familiar as his own, and the way he looks now—half his face basked in golden light, half his face shaded in sharp relief from the shadow Kyung’s casting? Kyung wishes he can draw half as well as Jiho does if only he can keep this memory forever. 

“Sure, distract me with kisses,” Kyung says, trying to sound grumpy but mostly comes off as he breathless with a touch of shyness. He lifts his hand to pick off a stray bit of rice from Jiho’s face and he’s about to eat it when the door jimmies open for the third time that day, and Jaehyo’s face sticks into the gap.

“Sorry to break up your date,” he says, “but Taeil wants to bail. Wanna come with?”

//

As nice as it is, here on the balcony in the mid-morning sun, Jiho is ever-aware that they’re in a  _ church _ and it’s still physically uncomfortable for him, no matter how much he tries to lose himself in Kyung. So, shooting a look at Kyung to ask  _ is this okay? _ he looks up at Jaehyo and smiles. “I’m in. Where are we going?”

At least, if nothing else, this church trip has given more inspiration to draw things, and he’s itching to get his hands on some paper and a pencil (he would have shoved a few scraps in his jacket pocket, but he was running late) so he can put down all the things he’s seen this morning. The grandiose ceiling of the church; the way the stained-glass windows spilled rainbow patterns onto the floor; he and Kyung and Jaehyo and Yukwon and Taeil, all in a line on a pew; but most importantly, he wants to draw Kyung here on the balcony like this, chopsticks in hand with sunlight illuminating him and his smile. He still feels that itch underneath his skin – the itch for bloodshed, for violence, for an explosion – but he pushes it down as he stands up, brushing dirt off his jeans. If he’s patient and he waits, he’ll get an outlet for that later, but right now he has to act like a normal human being – and he finds he doesn’t mind that, not really, not when it’s with Kyung’s friends.

//

"Not the aquarium," Kyung groans loudly, disentangling himself from Jiho (and presses one last kiss to his cheek that obviously doesn't go unnoticed by Jaehyo, who pulls a face) to pick up the trash after them, bagging them all and offering the last piece of kimbap to Jiho. 

"Taeil says he knew you'd say that, so he said Jiho can pick," Jaehyo relays, sliding to the side to give Jiho and Kyung room to exit. He shoots Kyung a significant look, a smug, punch-worthy look, that says that they all know that Kyung probably can't say no to whatever Jiho's going to say, and he's right. He'll go to the aquarium for the billionth time if Jiho wanted to, even if all fish looked the godamn same to him. It's when they're cooked that Kyung can taste the difference, but it's not like Taeil would appreciate that sentiment. 

"Not the aquarium," Kyung repeats warningly to Jiho anyway, trashing the rest of their lunch as he takes Jiho's hand again.

//

“Oh,” Jiho pouts as they make their way down the stairs. “But I haven’t been to the aquarium before.”

He’s not lying, either. His childhood wasn’t exactly filled with happy memories (although he has been to the zoo once or twice – all he remembers from that time is being dragged around by Jiseok) and he never found the time to go as an adult. Besides, the aquarium would be a good place to draw, and he’s in the mood for it.

Jiho turns to look back at Kyung with an exaggerated sad face, widening his eyes and looking as pitiful as he possibly can as they spill out into the church proper, ignoring Jaehyo snorting with laughter behind him. “Can we go? Please?” 

//

Kyung takes one look at Jiho and curses under his breath—but not too loudly, he’s been essentially conditioned to never curse here, and it’s now more of a muscle memory than anything else. He just physically  _ can’t _ do it, try as he might. Behind them, Jaehyo’d devolved into full out snort-laughing, and Kyung has to resist the urge to roll his eyes lest Jiho thinks it might be directed at him.

“… fine,” he grumbles, squeezing onto Jiho’s hand tighter because he’d actually felt himself go weak at the knees at how Jiho’s eyes had sparkled; he can’t recall having seen it before, and now that he’s seen it, he’s going to make it his goal to make it happen more often. Sans the aquarium, next time. “I’ll guess I’ll just have to busy myself with other sights.” And then he’s raising his eyebrows suggestively in Jiho’s direction, the gesture obvious enough for Jaehyo to catch on and scoff in disgust as he barrels past them to call Taeil and Yukwon over.

“Guess where we’re going?” he half-hollers, voice coming out louder than the people in the half-packed lobby. Kyung just knows the smug bastard means for him to take offense. “No, guess. Seriously—yeah, the aquarium!”

//

Jiho only has to see the look on Kyung’s face to know he’s made the right decision. He likes fish, and besides, even if he doesn’t feel like looking at them there will be a dark corner that they can steal away to. It’s just compounded when he sees Taeil looking over the moon and Yukwon laughing behind his hand.

“How are we all going to get there?” Jaehyo asks them all, looking at Taeil doubtfully. “Five people can’t fit on your bike.”

Jiho half-raises his hand and coughs. “I’ve got my car. It’s parked, like, a ten minute walk away.”

He hadn’t thought that they were going to be taking a trip in his car today, and thinks worriedly about the knives and shotgun stashed in the boot, concealed underneath a jacket. He just has to hope that no one decides to go rummaging through it… But more importantly, he has to deal with what the others are going to say when they see that he, an art student, has a current-model Mercedes AMG-GT in matte black with all the trimmings. He’s just going to have to claim his parents are  _ really _ rich or something.

He sees Jaehyo open his mouth in excitement and cuts in. “But, ah, it’s a two seater. So someone’s going to have to sit on someone else’s lap.”


	7. Chapter 7

The moment Jiho announces that his car is a two-seater, both Jaehyo and Kyung’s arms shoot up in the air, quick as lightning, and they both declare loudly, while exchanging horrified looks with each other, “I’m riding with Taeil!” In the end, it’s not like they actually had a say in it, because Taeil loops an arm around Yukwon’s shoulder and says, “I’ve got your favourite helmet out back, I’ll go slower this time, okay?”

“We’re dead,” Kyung groans, scrubbing the side of his face, as they start heading off in the direction of the church’s entrance. 

“ _ You’re _ complaining?” Jaehyo argues, even as Kyung smacks his face repeatedly into Jiho’s shoulder. “I’m the one who has to be sat on by you.”

“Who the hell says I’m sitting on  _ you? _ ” Kyung immediately shoots back. 

“Alright,” Jaehyo replies, crossing his arms challengingly, “we can rock paper scissors it and leave it up to chance. Or we can pick the way that won’t leave your tiny body suffocated by my much superior one.” 

Kyung makes a face at him and turns to address Jiho with a dead serious look in his eye and says, “Your car has a boot, right?”

//

“Yes,” Jiho replies, perfectly seriously as they step out onto the footpath and head towards the car, “but it’s not big enough to fit a body in.” He knows this from previous experience, sadly.

That sets the two of them off into another indignant round of squawking, and as they walk to the car – in fact, they bicker the entire way there, playing scissors paper rock over and over again and arguing about the result every time.

“Yeah, I lost – more than once, I’ll give you that – but you can’t sit on me,” Kyung howls. “You’re twice my size and I will  _ die _ .”

Jaehyo looks down at him smugly. “Good.”

They fail to realise that Jiho has come to a stop in front of his car and bash into the back of him at once, jumping with shock, both staring open-mouthed and agog at Jiho’s car (which, alright, seen through Kyung’s eyes he can see how it might look a  _ little _ ostentatious), not moving as Jiho unlocks it with the key fob.

“Here we are,” he starts, somewhat awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed by this over-the-top show of wealth. “Hop in.”

//

They both have enough tact not to say anything aloud, but just a look at Jaehyo’s face tells Kyung that they’re probably thinking about the same thing, i.e. that Jiho’s rich as hell and this, for Kyung, who’d grown up mostly frugal and mostly independent on his meagre salary, was probably more of a turn on than it should be. 

“Holy shit,” Jaehyo says, speaking for them both. He’s the gamer between them two, so he’s really the one who’s more knowledgeable about cars and gets insufferable when he and Taeil truly start on the topic of Which Is Best. It’s a question that Kyung’d long realized would never be answered, although by the way Jaehyo’s drooling right now, he thinks they might have found a temporary solution. 

His awe lasts a whole thirty seconds until they climb in and start on the herculean task of having to rearrange themselves on the leather seat as Jiho starts the engine. 

“It’s only a twenty minute drive,” Jaehyo says, stroking the dashboard with something akin to wonder, “or maybe even less.” 

“Can you try and look less turned on when I’m  _ sitting on your lap? _ ” Kyung demands, smacking Jaehyo’s hand away.

“Ha,” Jaehyo scoffs,  _ still stroking the fucking car _ , “don’t flatter yourself. What kind of engine does this have?” 

Kyung groans, tempted to drop his head to the dashboard, but at the same time doesn’t want to leave a scratch on this painfully expensive vehicle.  _ Jiho’s _ painfully expensive vehicle. Compounded with his apartment, Kyung can’t help but wonder whose payroll Jiho’s on, or if his family is estranged because of some kdrama-esque inheritance shitshow. He doesn’t know  _ how _ to feel about all this, that one man can be surrounded with such an extravagant display of wealth, and still keep mostly to himself.

//

“A twin turbo V8,” Jiho shoots back, somewhat proudly. “And it’s only a twenty minute drive when you obey all the traffic laws.”

One bonus of being in the Organisation is his criminal record – or rather, complete lack of one, despite the number of homicides, GBHs, assaults, and thefts he’s participated in, not to mention the hundreds if not  _ thousands _ of speeding tickets he gets in the mail upon the regular. He’s never had to pay a single one of them because they all magically disappear, thanks to the wonders of corruption. He’s always subscribed to the philosophy of ‘why buy a fast car if you can’t drive it fast?’ – although looking over with a devilish grin at Kyung, who is folded up like an origami crane on Jaehyo’s lap, he reconsiders putting his foot down.

“Shall I open her up?” he asks, deciding to leave it up to them.

//

They both shoot Jiho twin looks of amazement, but for completely different reasons. Kyung can only guess as to what the hell Jaehyo’s thinking (i.e. something along the lines of cajoling Jiho into letting Jaehyo sit behind the wheel, which is never a good idea unless Jiho has some sort of insurance that covered 100% of the damages. Also, Jaehyo’s parents would be devastated if Jaehyo died) but Kyung’s thinking about how ironic it had been that he’d drawn comparisons between Jiho and his ex, because as it stands, they were getting further and further and further apart in similarity. 

To think Kyung’d always assumed himself to have a type.

“Hell yeah, forget the aquarium,” Jaehyo says, bristling up with excitement, which causes Kyung to tumble forward like a discarded toy. 

“Watch it, asshole,” Kyung lashes out, one hand gripping onto Jaehyo’s arm, the other landing smack-dab in the middle of the dashboard. For all they were gushing about this car—and Kyung has no doubt what Taeil’s going to say when he sees it, too, because they were all a bunch of nerds—it’s uncomfortably small and unpractical and Kyung honestly can’t imagine why Jiho would want it. It’s another thing he has to add to Jiho’s ever-growing list of surprising characteristics. 

“It’s not my fault you’re incompetent at  _ sitting _ ,” Jaehyo returns, and Kyung makes the snap decision to get comfortable and lean back against Jaehyo as if he’s an arm chair, using his broad shoulder as a headrest.

“I think you might wanna reconsider the upholstery,” Kyung tells Jiho, completely dismissing Jaehyo’s squawks of indignance.

//

Jiho snorts and, as they pull up to a set of lights (inwardly he pats himself on the back for stopping; normally he’d just drive straight through, traffic be damned) he lets go of the gearstick to interlace his fingers with Kyung’s and kiss his knuckles gently. “Yeah? Is it a bit lumpy?” He asks, grinning, laughing as Jaehyo opens his mouth to protest. “And loud?”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the cars on the other side of the intersection slow and stop and lets go of Kyung’s hand to press a button on the center console marked  _ launch control _ , taking his foot off the brake and feeling the car drift forward.

“Hold on,” he mutters, glancing over at them – Kyung’s eyes wide with nervousness and Jaehyo’s with anticipation.

The  _ moment _ the lights go green he floors it, mashing the accelerator into the carpet and holding on for dear life as all 500 horses in the engine scream, sending the car  _ leaping _ forward with a violent roar. They’re all pushed them all back into their seats as he speeds madly across the intersection, the speed almost blinding as he switches lanes madly like he’s in some computer game. After a few more seconds – just enough for Kyung to open his mouth to start screaming – he brakes, taking them back down to a normal speed, grinning widely with goosebumps all over his arms. 

“Won’t be long now,” he points out, nodding to a sign overhead that says  _ Aquarium Parking _ .

//

If Kyung’d ever thought that Taeil’s speeding was terrifying, he takes it all back now, because his definition of terrifying had just been completely shattered. He’s not even aware that he’s  _ yelling _ until Jiho pulls to a screeching stop and there’s nothing but the sound of his own voice filling up the car.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He’s pretty sure he’s melded into one blobby entity with Jaehyo, now, just the way their parents had always accused them of being growing up. But Kyung appears to be the only one in the car who felt as though he’d just lost  _ years _ of his life, because Jiho’s grin is radiant, like he’d single-handedly found the solution to world peace. And, okay, Kyung can give up a few years of his life just for that, no problem, he’s not even going to complain. Not that he can, anyway—he seemed to have lost his voice completely.

Jaehyo, on the other hand, appears to have been shocked into silence. Kyung has to crane his neck (which took a lot of effort, because it his head felt like it could no longer turn left nor right) to glance at him, but Kyung recognizes that look—it’s the same one he wears whenever a new game drops in the market that he’s been waiting for for months, it’s the same one he wears on the rare occasions they attend an exhibit together and Jaehyo sees something he  _ really _ likes and proceeds to stand there and gawk for the next twenty minutes. It’s one that tells him that even if Kyung and Jiho doesn’t work out, there’s no way Jaehyo’s going to let this car go, even if he has to steal it.

//

They ride the last few minutes in silence, Jiho grinning too hard to speak and the other two either too shocked or too ecstatic. Kyung looks three shades paler, almost like he’s going to be sick (which is  _ not _ happening, not in the car) but Jaehyo looks like he’s had a religious experience – and not a run-of-the-mill religious experience, either; no, more like those weird ones he saw on TV once, where the preacher touched someone and they preceded to have what looked like a seizure. Even when he slows to a stop and parks neatly in the carpark, they both just  _ look _ at him, unwilling or unable to move.

“Alright, come on,” he laughs, getting out and walking around the front of the car to open the door for the both of them. “If your legs still work, that is.”

Kyung scrambles out first and nearly falls over, his knees wobbling dangerously; Jiho catches him easily and pulls him close, supporting him, letting Kyung lean on him. “I didn’t realise I had that effect on people,” Jiho murmurs, amused. 

“Less you, more your car. Woah,” Jaehyo butts in as he gets out too, shutting the door and leaning against the car heavily.

//

“Less you  _ or _ your car,” Kyung interjects, voice small and still a little wobbly, though 100% accusatory as he takes this chance to cling shamelessly onto Jiho. At least there’s a reward for halving his life span, Kyung thinks dismally, small as that reward may be. “More of your attempt to kill  _ all of us _ . I think Jaehyo literally ascended to heaven.”

“You’re scared, we get it,” Jaehyo immediately returns as he flips around so he can marvel the car’s build and make and whatever the hell it is that Jaehyo and Jiho apparently got off on. 

“If me and that car fell off a cliff, you’d save the car,” Kyung accuses, louder this time, dragging a hand through his hair to steady himself. It mostly works, but it probably has more to do with the fact that Jiho is warm and impossibly solid next to him, not that he’s willing to take another joy ride like that. 

“No way,” Jaehyo dismisses, finally finishing his round of the car to join them once more, “the car’s too heavy to pick up. Where’s Taeil?” 

As if on cue, Taeil’s motorbike comes zooming in obnoxiously loud, pulling to a stop a little further off from where they were, parking with the rest of the bikes. Just like Jiho’s car Taeil’s bike happened to be the vehicular equivalent of a large, muscled man. 

“I can’t believe you have a batman car,” Kyung tells Jiho softly, once Jaehyo wanders off to collect Yukwon and Taeil. He snorts, loosening his grip on Jiho a little so he can snatch up Jiho’s hand. “I can’t believe I don’t even know that I’m dating someone with batman’s  _ car _ .”

//

Jiho snorts, squeezing Kyung’s hand and smiling shyly. “Hardly. Batman’s more of a McLaren man.” 

He takes the opportunity to kiss Kyung, aware the others are off behind him somewhere, not caring at all. Something about driving fast puts him on edge, and he feels  _ alive _ , even more so when he kisses Kyung perhaps a bit more passionately then what’s appropriate but he can’t bring it in himself to care when he’s on fire and Kyung’s lips are so addictive. He only pulls back when he hears the crunch of gravel from over his shoulder, signalling the arrival of the others – and sure enough, Taeil’s making a beeline for the car, Jaehyo not far behind him, Yukwon taking up the rear.

“...and the  _ speed _ – oh, man, you would not  _ believe _ what that acceleration felt like.” Jaehyo’s saying as they approach, waving his arms about excitedly.

Reluctantly, Jiho moves away from Kyung, winking at him happily, observing how fucking hot Kyung looks – flushed, his pupils blown wide, looking up at Jiho dazedly, and realising he could do nothing but kiss Kyung all day and be completely content with his life.

//

If Kyung’d thought that he’d lost half his life earlier, he thinks he’s dropped another few years now just for  _ that _ alone. Jiho looks wild, like he’s holding onto energy he can barely contain, like he wants nothing but to push him back against the car and take him right there. It’s only when he hears Jaehyo’s voice that Kyung lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s even holding.

“Car talk?” Yukwon asks, as he approaches Kyung’s side, and Kyung has to tear his eyes away from Jiho to focus on actually stitching together a reply so he doesn’t actually look like he’d lost brain cells in that car ride. (He’d lost brain cells with Jiho’s kiss, but he doesn’t think Yukwon would appreciate that information.) 

“Car talk,” Kyung confirms, watching Jaehyo gesture wildly behind Yukwon, and Taeil gesturing wildly right back. It’s one of those rare times when Taeil does get excited about something, so Kyung can’t exactly take that away from him. Besides… his eyes drift back to Jiho, and then quickly snaps back to Yukwon again. “Should we grab the tickets first? You know how they get.”

//

“Sounds good,” Jiho agrees, slightly breathless from the kiss. Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he nods at Jaehyo. “Here. Don’t drive her anywhere, but you can sit inside.” He throws the keys to him, laughing at the way his eyes light up, and the way Taeil immediately reaches for them, Jaehyo holding them above his head like a prize.

They turn their back on the squabbling pair and head towards the entrance, Jiho sandwiched in the middle between Kyung and Yukwon. In fact, he realises as they walk, he knows absolutely  _ nothing _ about Yukwon (besides the warm affection in his gaze whenever he looks at Jaehyo) and for a moment panic spikes in him –  _ he is a stranger! He could be anyone – _ and his fingers twitch, reaching for a knife on his belt that’s not there, before he remembers and tries to relax. Paranoia is what has kept him alive so far but it feels somewhat out of place here, like this, so he smiles at Yukwon cordially, even if he’s tamping down on abstract panic. “How do you know this motley crew?” he asks, finding Kyung’s hand blindly and squeezing gently. “Did you all grow up together?”

//

Kyung’s starting to suss out a pattern when it comes to Jiho, and that is he’s completely shit with new people. Which is ironic, because Kyung thrives amongst strangers, and he typically left behind a trail of adoring fans (“You’re delusional,” Jaehyo would tell him, “they just don’t know how to tell you to go away.”). He figures Yukwon can hold his ground, though—because there’s no one friendlier or more disarming than Kim Yukwon—and settles for lacing his fingers between Jiho’s to lead them along towards the booth with it’s moderately long queue of families, all waiting to go in.

“I actually met them at church,” Yukwon answers with a grin. Kyung could honestly hug him. “I guess… you could say… they adopted me? We grew close in the last few years.” And now he’s blushing. Kyung spares a thought to thank god that Jaehyo isn’t within their vicinity, or he had no doubt they’d be shooting each other syrupy, overly saccharine looks. Much like he and Jiho, Kyung realizes, but that’s a whole other thing.

“What about you?” Yukwon goes on, as they join the tail-end of the queue. “How did you guys meet?”

//

“Er…” Jiho begins, drawing out the syllables, shooting a desperate look at Kyung – but Kyung just smiles at him, making it clear he’s on his own with this one. “A laundromat, actually. I… was helping a friend with his exhibition, got fake blood all over myself and… my washing machine broke. Kyung was there… Doing his washing…” he trails off and bites his lip, the story sounding as ridiculous as it is. “We got coffee… things escalated.”

What else can he say?  _ we had frenzied sort-of sex in a change room and became addicted to each other?  _ I mean, it’s true, but it’s not very appropriate for conversation. Besides, he’s pretty sure Jaehyo and Taeil know what went on, and if the way Jaehyo and Yukwon have been shooting heart-eyes to each other all day is any indication, Yukwon probably has an idea too. He smiles wanly at Yukwon, blushing as he feels Kyung’s eyes on him.

//

Kyung splutters loudly at the look on Jiho’s face. He can’t help himself—he’s both endeared and amused and ready to pull Kim Yukwon to one side to regale him with stories about how they’d met, each one wilder than the next (though, as long as he stopped short of an alien invasion, none would be quite as wild as the truth). 

“What?” Yukwon questions curiously, raising his eyebrows, then as if noticing the look on both Jiho and Kyung’s faces, quickly raises his hands and says, “Never mind, I don’t want to know,  _ don’t _ tell me.”

“Are you sure?” Kyung asks, using his free hand to loop an arm around Yukwon’s neck to pull him along as the queue moves. “‘cause I can tell you that what  _ actually _ happened was that I was pretty much naked at the laundromat, right? You know, it’s Friday, so there Jiho was, just  _ staring— _ ”

Yukwon interrupts him then, making a loud sound of distress as he cups his ears, and Kyung glances around to exchange a look with Jiho, grinning widely.

//

“You were staring first!” Jiho protests loudly. “ _ You _ started it.” 

It’s childish of them, but they laugh at the look on Yukwon’s face, instantaneous and synchronised, leaning on each other for support at the way Yukwon starts saying “lalalala, I can’t hear you,” over the top of them.

“What’s so funny?” Jaehyo says from behind them, appearing out of nowhere and giving Jiho such a shock he stumbles and nearly falls, grabbing onto Kyung for support, which just sets them off into hysterics again. At this point he’s not entirely sure what they’re laughing about, but he can see the question marks over Jaehyo’s and Taeil’s head, and that’s enough.

//

“Kyung’s telling me the story of how they met,” Kyung hears Yukwon say over the sounds of his own hysterical laughter. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a carry-over from the sunlight on the balcony, in that moment before his dad had interrupted them. He feels warm all over, when he’d normally be complaining and grouchy when Taeil drags him along for a new exhibit or to look at his favourites. “Bring a date,” Kyung would usually grouse, and he supposes this time Kyung has, instead.   
  
He rights himself—clutching his stomach and wiping at residual tears—just in time to see Jaehyo yelp and make a lunge for Yukwon to steer him away from Kyungs apparent evildoing.   
  
“Don’t listen to him, he’s full of shit,” Jaehyo says, and normally Kyung would rebut, Kyung would start arguing with him, but he’s caught Jiho’s eye and he knows  _ exactly _ what Jiho’s thinking of—their exchange in the changing room, all the heat and urgency and the magnetism between them. Kyung gulps; dragging Jiho off when he’s standing in front of his friends would just be bad form.    
  
“I learnt from the best,” Kyung says instead, grinning when Taeil rolls his eyes. The queue moves a little more, so Kyung pulls on Jiho’s hand to follow along.   
  
“That story isn’t safe for public consumption,” Jaehyo complains. The tips of his ears are red, and while he’s openly glaring at Kyung, they both know he can’t look at Jiho. That alone sends Kyung into fresh peals of laughter.

//

Jiho’s just about to rebut when the family in front of them disperses and he realises they’re first in line and, clearing his throat awkwardly, comes face to face with the overly-perky girl manning the counter.

“Five adults, please,” he states, sliding his credit card across the counter without a second thought.

The girl raises her eyebrows at him but rings him through anyway, and he can hear the other four staring at him, eyes hot on his back. He takes the tickets and the receipt and turns around to see them all looking at him, Jaehyo’s ears still red. Kyung opens his mouth to say something, but Jiho just shoves the tickets in his hands abruptly, feeling himself blush. “My treat.” 

Perhaps he should have let them pay for themselves, but he hadn’t even  _ thought _ of it – they’re all struggling students, after all, and he’s… well, he’s not, and they all know he can afford it, anyway. When you have so much money that the numbers start to run together, you don’t even think about what you spend it on, after all. Still, he feels awkward, and turns to head into the aquarium somewhat hesitantly.

//

They exchange a look between themselves because while they’d more or less cemented that yeah, Jiho was loaded, Jiho probably had as much money as if Kyung sold all his internal organs, but  _ still _ . It’s not really social protocol, but then again, it’s not really unwelcome either. Fish are  _ expensive _ , they should honestly just be honoured that people bother to come and see them.

So Kyung speeds ahead, picking up a little jog as he slides his arms around Jiho’s to tug him in along the entrance faster. Almost at once, they’re plunged into a semi-darkness, illuminated by a blue lighting from the tanks lining the tunnels. Even the kids from outside were mostly quiet now, and like this, Kyung feels his world narrow down to just Jiho as he tip-toes to kiss Jiho’s cheek to thank him. It’s a more extravagant display of affection, but Jiho looks awkward, like he’d accidentally paid for them all and hadn’t realized it until the moment he found them staring at him. It’s not even something to feel  _ embarrassed _ about, no, that’ll come later, in the form of Ahn Jaehyo  _ insisting _ that he should pay for his and Yukwon’s share, and in Taeil grumbling about how he has a membership discount card. 

“Thanks,” he adds, just in case his intention is miscommunicated, “I guess paying for those ugly shirts worked out in the end, huh?”

//

Jiho feels slightly giddy as Kyung kisses him on the cheek. They’d come as a group, but here in the dim, aquamarine light of the aquarium they all split up – Taeil making a beeline for the Corydoras and Jaehyo and Yukwon splitting off towards the sharks, leaving them here in their little bubble.

“What did I tell you about one upmanship?” he teases in reply, tugging Kyung along gently. “It will be endless.”

He looks back over his shoulder to see Kyung grinning at him widely, the blue permeating everything, and it hits him at once how this will end: violently. He’s not ready for that,  _ fuck _ , he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be because just thinking of it steals his breath away, leaving him empty and hollow. Jesus, it hasn’t been that long but – he  _ loves _ Kyung, he knows he does, and it’s too late, too fucking god damn late. What is he, aside from the most base of creatures, the bringer of death, the sinner? 

He should have kept his mouth shut.

Kyung must sense a change in him because his fingers clench around Jiho’s, pulling him to a stop. They’ve walked into a quiet room displaying – of all things – sea urchins, which probably explains why it’s empty except for the two of them. Kyung  _ looks _ at him, in that way that he does, like he’s trying to see down to the depths of Jiho’s soul – but he doesn’t want that because his darkest parts are hidden there, the parts of him that he won’t even look at, and that Kyung should never have to see. He can’t  _ stand _ it so he pulls Kyung close, walking backwards so they’re against a fishtank, mostly hidden from the rest of the room, and kisses Kyung desperately.

Kyung’s not stupid, and perhaps he’s absolutely confused by Jiho’s mood swings – really, any normal person should be – but he reacts the way Jiho had hoped, melting into him, his hands plucking at the fabric of Jiho’s shirt. Jiho doesn’t know who he is – doesn’t even know  _ what _ he is, no, not anymore, not after Kyung had ripped up all the labels he’d assigned to himself – but perhaps he can find himself in Kyung, so he deepens the kiss, palming at Kyung’s back, wanting to forget.

//

Kyung’d spent these past few days thinking that he’d been teetering on the precipice of something bigger than he’d ever experienced in his life and that he’d been trying to choose whether or not he wanted to fall over. But as Jiho tugs him nearer to kiss him, as Jiho blindly draws him further and further into the dim lighting of the room, Kyung’s suddenly aware that he’s wrong—he had stepped over the edge the moment he’d left that laundromat with Jiho. Whether this would end well or not, the motion had been set in place, and Kyung can only hold on with hopes it’ll be fine.   
  
But he lets his hopes push a little higher than just  _ fine _ , because Jiho kisses him like he wants nothing but Kyung. Jiho kisses him with his hand flat on Kyung’s back, sturdy and anchoring, with the promise of catching Kyung at the end of this ride. So he fists his hands in the fabric on the back of Jiho’s jacket, curls his other hand at the front of Jiho’s pants, feeling warm skin press up against his colder knuckles, and he kisses back with as much as he—Park Kyung, math major, occasional electrician, part-time pastor’s kid, loud-mouthed, straight-forward smug bastard—has got, meeting Jiho toe-to-toe.    
  
He knows it’s too late to rein anything back, anyway.   
  
The room’s mostly quiet, the hum of the tanks and the air-conditioning blurring into the background as they kiss, faces illuminated by the alien glow. Kyung wants to break the silence, wants to break away to joke like he had the first time they’d done this.  _ Really, in front of the fishes? _ or  _ Taeil’s gonna be appalled _ , but it seems like he’s been sucked dry of anything coherent to say. Words seem superfluous in comparison to Jiho’s intensity, and Kyung doesn’t know how to reciprocate, doesn’t know how to tread the murky paths that Jiho’d shone a cursory beam of light towards. He just knows he wants to get to the treasure on the other end, knows that that’ll lead him to this: one palm pressed warmly over Jiho’s heart, the other inching further into Jiho’s pants to curl around his cock. And when he leans back, when he glances up, all he sees is Jiho’s face coloured in a sharp, chlorine blue, mouth hanging open and over his lips tumbles Kyung’s name over and over and over again.

//

There’s such a sweet despair between the both of them that he can  _ feel _ it, it’s as physical and as solid as the both of them, warm and real and painful. He wants to ask Kyung –  _ can you feel it? Is it there? _ – but then Kyung’s fumbling with his buttons and grasping his cock and when he goes to open his mouth, all that spills out is Kyung’s name, his prayer, his benediction.

“God,” he groans, resting his head on the cool, tempered glass of the fish tank, wanting to shut his eyes but somehow unable to. 

“Jiho,” Kyung whispers in response, the words flowing into him like oxygen, making him gasp and shudder and grind his hips up into Kyung’s hand.

The fact that they’re in public doesn’t matter – never has mattered, not really, not when the despair and desire coagulate into one solid mass in the pit of his stomach, making him moan Kyung’s name into the emptiness of the room, making him feel like he’s going to die, right here and now… Because nothing,  _ nothing _ , on earth has made him feel alive like this, not ever. It burns through his veins and capillaries, sweet and acrid and painful, leaving him a wreck only capable of knowing Kyung, feeling Kyung, kissing Kyung,  _ loving _ Kyung – and it’s too much, too goddamned much, equal parts pain and pleasure that leave him reeling and stripped.

//

“I got you,” Kyung finds himself murmuring, because isn’t that all he’d wanted to tell Jiho throughout today? You have me. You’ve got me. And all that skirting around Kyung, all that careful treading, all that thinking that having a breakdown alone than having Kyung there would be better? That’s not going to do any more, that’s not what Kyung’s going to allow Jiho to settle for. Because even in this sickly light, Jiho is beautiful, and Kyung wants this all for himself too.   
  
He slides a hand back up to the back of Jiho’s neck, tipping Jiho’s head forward so Kyung can meet his eyes, his gasping breaths hot against Kyung’s cheek. Despite the fact that anyone could walk in at any moment, Kyung jerks Jiho off at a slow, unhurried pace, wanting to draw out every minute expression on Jiho’s face, wanting to slow down time so he can keep it just like this—a quiet room, the two of them pressed up against each other,  no words exchanged except for each other’s names, the literal definition of the world falling away and leaving them both behind.    
  
Each reaction begets memorization—a twist of his hand at the base of Jiho’s length brings him an aborted gasp that tapers off into a moan, pressing his thumb to the underside of the head of his cock elicits a groan that gives Kyung the shivers, growing instantly hard in his own pants—not only for future purposes, but that he doesn’t think the universe would forgive him for forgetting something like  _ this _ .  _ He _ wouldn’t forgive himself for ever forgetting something like this.

//

He can do nothing but lean heavily on Kyung and  _ feel _ , all the physical sensations assaulting him at once – the way Kyung’s hands drift all over his cock, drawing out reactions from Jiho on  _ purpose _ – as well as the emotion surrounding him, drawing him in, enveloping – the warring affection and despondency battling over the landscape of his heart – until he loses himself completely, giving over to nothing but the most primal urges, sinking his teeth into Kyung’s neck as he fucks Kyung’s hand harder and faster.

“Don’t – stop –” he pants onto Kyung's neck, not because he thinks Kyung will but because he doesn’t want him to stop, not ever.

The lies gnaw away at him, leaving him in agony as he feels heat pool, low in his belly, irreversible and fated just like the both of them. He wants to – he wants to draw this out, so he can remember in the future, what this was like – but he can’t bring it in himself to stop because he’s too far gone, love and lust and hatred and anguish confounding him completely as he feels his orgasm building, growing.

//

Kyung can't help the moan that escapes him when Jiho bites his neck, head tilting sidewards to expose the smooth curve of throat. His hand on Jiho stutters, just squeezes for a moment as his eyes slip shut and he tries his damndest to remember that he's in fucking public and the children from the queue earlier could walk in at any fucking moment but Jiho's hot against him and Kyung just wants to fucking sink to his knees right here and right now and reenact the scene that Yukwon had been curious about.    
  
He doesn't because he knows that Jiho's close—can tell from the way he pants, short bursts of breath coming raggedly right by Kyung's ear, urging him on.    
  
"Never," Kyung replies, because he thinks that Jiho sounded like he needed that, like he isn't quite talking about Kyung's hand on his cock. And then he's sliding his fingers into Jiho's hair to hold onto him as he whispers lowly into Jiho's ear ("You're doing so well, you look so good, let me make this good for you—") and picks up his pace in the only way he can in the restricted space of Jiho's pants—short, jerking movements, palm slicked with Jiho's own pre-come, the wet sound coming out muffled in the quiet room.

//

His orgasm rocks through him violently, leaving him unable to do anything except cling to Kyung and bury his face in the crook of his neck to try and stifle the groan that erupts from him. Kyung coaxes him though, whispering sweet nothings into the air, words that mean nothing but are so oddly comforting at the same time. He sags, exhausted, against Kyung and tries to regain his breath.

They stand like that for a few moments before Kyung huffs. “Hey, Jiho,” he murmurs, wiping his hand on the fabric of Jiho’s underwear. “You’re heavy.”

With a growl, Jiho grabs Kyung by the collar of his shirt and whirls him around so  _ he’s _ the one pressed up against the fishtank. He watches Kyung’s eyes go wide and leans down to kiss him hungrily, desire coursing through him, burning through everything except the need to see Kyung coming for him. He wedges a thigh between Kyung’s legs and smiles as Kyung grinds against him automatically, feeling the length of Kyung’s hardness against his hip.

Thumbing open Kyung’s pants – not even feeling the slightest bit of guilt at debauching him in his Sunday best – he closes his hand around Kyung’s cock, shuddering in sync with each other. Kyung’s hand closes on the back of his neck and he pulls Jiho back down into a ferocious kiss, the both of them panting in time, riding Kyung’s need.

//

Jiho whirls him around with a decisive  _ whump _ and Kyung feels the breath leave his lungs. He's about to make a smart-ass comment about Jiho being a little too eager when he dives in for a hungry kiss, his thigh pressing up solidly against Kyung's aching cock.    
  
Bastard doesn't even give him time to recover and adjust before his hand finds its way into Kyung's pants and he gasps into the kiss, gripping tighter onto Jiho's neck. He's pretty sure he's going to leave indents with his nails, but as it is he has no capacity to be concerned with anything else but Jiho's palm hotly wrapped around him.    
  
"Is that all you've got?" Kyung taunts, breathily, like he's only barely holding on. And he is; it's only going to take a few more strokes for him, because he can feel the heat pooling low in his belly and when he meets Jiho's eyes, he can see his own desperation reflected. So he taunts, pulls a shaky grin even as his hips buck up against Jiho's grip, tipping his head back against the glass warmed by Jiho, earlier, trying to look as salacious as possible given that his hold on the front of Jiho's jacket is deathly tight.

//

Jiho  _ loves _ how Kyung is baiting him even with how ragged he is, how close to the edge; so he shrugs nonchalantly. “Alright.”

Taking his hand out of Kyung’s pants, he licks up the length of his palm slowly in an over-the-top, obscene way, making sure to get as much saliva on there as he can – maintaining eye contact with Kyung the entire time – before grabbing Kyung’s cock again, the added sensation of the wetness making Kyung gasp and buck his hips upwards. He can  _ feel _ the desperation there, like an entity, feel it in the way Kyung licks his lips haggardly, in the way his chest rises and falls quickly. He wants to be the one to take Kyung there – wants to hear Kyung say his name – so he shifts positions a bit, picking up the pace, leaning down to whisper in Kyung’s ear how fucking hot he is, how much Jiho likes seeing him like this, how fucking good he feels – everything he can think of, just meaningless words that make Kyung moan; the sweetest sound in the world.

//

He instantly regrets his taunting the moment Jiho's hand leaves his dick, and then his regret multiplies into oblivion when Jiho licks his godamn palm like some sort of b-grade porn star. 

Then again, everything else seemed like a b-grade porn flick: the lighting, the way everything seemed to slow down as Kyung watches Jiho's tongue press flat to his palm, the way all the sounds seemed to amplify, so all Kyung can hear is each and everyone of his breaths coming in shortly, harshly, like he's running a marathon instead of getting a handjob from Woo fucking Jiho in the middle of the aquarium. 

He falls mostly silent after that, losing himself in the combination of Jiho's hand and Jiho's words and Jiho's solid presence. And  _ still _ he can't help the little whimpers that Jiho elicits from him, the way he gasps when Jiho tugs at him just so, and then he's choking out a desperate, "Shit, I'm gonna—" and then buries his face into the front of Jiho's chest as his body tenses, trying to muffle himself from announcing to the whole godamn place that Woo Jiho'd just made him come.

//

Jiho doesn’t move as Kyung comes, stuttering hopelessly into his hand, burying his face in Jiho’s chest and whining, tremors running through his whole body. Carefully, he wipes his hand and then pulls Kyung close into a hug, stroking his hair gently. 

He still feels like shit, although the orgasm has taken the edge off and he’s content to just stay like this for a while, feeling Kyung sigh and burrow closer, smell the sweet scent of his shampoo, being surrounded by nothing but the essence of  _ them _ – and he loves it. He’s never met anyone he fit with quite like this, but now he does he doesn’t want to let go.

But of course, he must, because everything ends, and he’s not just talking about frantic mutual masturbation in public. So he puts his hands on Kyung’s shoulders and pushes him backwards gently, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to Kyung’s lips and sighing. “You okay?” he asks, although he suspects he knows what the answer is going to be.

//

“Ha,” Kyung replies, because that’s quite literally all that he can muster as he leans against Jiho more for the sake of doing it than for support. It’s wet and sticky in his pants and he hasn’t done this… well, since last week, actually. But before that, it’s been a long while since he hadn’t  _ waited _ to get to a room with his pants actually down to get off. Then again, it’s Jiho, and Kyung should really start associating Jiho with all things unordinary. Extraordinary. 

He straightens himself back against the fish tank, the glass cool once more. It’s a sweet relief, but so is pulling Jiho closer to grin up at him as Kyung fixes the front of his jacket, where Kyung’d essentially crumpled it in his haste and urgency. Then he stretches, lazily, contentedly, with the knowledge that they had a day ahead of them filled with nothing but time spent together, and hooks his hands behind the back of Jiho’s neck, still grinning. 

“If only my dad knew,” Kyung tuts, thinking of how ridiculous it’d been to have spent that morning sitting in the pews, and now he’d basically just committed a crime. It’s a good thing no one gave a fuck about—Kyung quickly glances back to read the labelling—sea urchins.

//

“I know,” Jiho mutters, with a wicked grin. “Public sex on a Sunday? Scandalous.”

He laughs as Kyung smacks him playfully on the arm and jumps back, out of the way, lest Kyung comes for more. He’s gotten so good at pretending in such a short space of time that it’s now easy to bluff his way through anything… Even if Kyung is sometimes eerily good at seeing through the facades Jiho throws up. He catches Kyung’s hand in his own and squeezes gently, smiling wanly. “Do you think the others even noticed we left?”

If they didn’t, they’re sure going to suspect what happened, especially as Kyung’s hair is ruffled and his clothes now slightly disheveled – not to mention he’s wearing that sort of woozy ‘I just came’ look, which is like a beacon lighting in the air above his head, announcing it to the world. It doesn’t help that Jiho probably looks the same, but he’s jaded enough to simply not give a shit what others think (except for Kyung… he gives a shit then). “Shall we go find them?”

//

Kyung knows exactly where Taeil would be—doing a quick round of whatever the hell was there, then heading straight for his favourite exhibitions. Jaehyo and Yukwon, too, would probably be wandering off somewhere nearer to the restaurants than the fish tanks, because they’re really mostly here just to spite Kyung. So he shakes his head, tugging at Jiho’s hand to lead them both out of the room.

“I see Jaehyo seven days a week,” Kyung points out, feeling an odd sense of loss once they’re surrounded by the sounds of people going about their day again. It’d been nice, in that sea urchin room (that he probably can’t ever see the same way again, whether that’s a good thing or not has yet to be decided), like they’d been the only two people at the bottom of an ocean. But now, Kyung feels light, buoyed by his earlier orgasm and the smile on Jiho’s face. “But I don’t see  _ you _ nearly enough. Besides, we aren’t officially dating until we visit a tacky tourist attraction.” 

What he means is that they haven’t actually been on a proper date. The dumpling restaurant lunch had been abruptly cut off, and the affair on the roof had been even less of a date and more of a  _ I can’t get enough of you _ type frenzy. This would make it the first. Kyung wants to laugh at the irony of the fact that they’re at the godamn  _ aquarium _ .

//

“I guess we’re dating, now, then,” Jiho replies, swinging their hands together as they meander forward through the aquarium. “Or do I have to buy you a stuffed animal?” 

He grins down at Kyung at that, laughing as he looks suitably affronted. Jiho can’t tell if it’s the suggestion of the stuffed animal or that  _ he’ll _ be the one buying it that has Kyung fake frowning, but he doesn’t particularly care. The sorrow that’s become his constant companion is still there, of course – but he can drown it in the all the water that surrounds them, at least temporarily, and perhaps for the moment that’s enough. In fact – with Kyung looking at him like this, with the sounds of normalcy around them – it  _ is _ enough, and for the first time Jiho wishes he really  _ was _ the Jiho that Kyung thinks he is.  _ That _ Jiho’s life is simple, easy, even if his parents are draconian – he’s essentially uncomplicated. Who he really is, however, is another story: layers upon layers of things he’s only just starting to discover, thanks to Kyung.

//

“That’s not how it works,” Kyung informs Jiho as they approach the throngs of families with their faces pressed to the glass. Kyung’d seen this before. Kyung’d seen this  _ ten _ times before in the past year alone, but today, it’s different. Today, instead of having Taeil natter on at his ear about this species and that species and various fun facts that’d only been interesting the first few times, he positions Jiho in front of the ginormous, colourful thank, then scoots around him to slip his arms around Jiho’s waist.

It’s a little uncomfortable—the height difference grows increasingly evident when Kyung has to stand a little on his toes to hook his chin over Jiho’s shoulder, grinning obnoxiously as he says, in the most sickening voice he can muster, “All these sights and none are better than you.” 

It’s probably a mark of how embarrassing he’s being that a pair of siblings glance up in their direction with twin looks of horror, although that probably has more to do with the fact that Kyung looks like he’s trying to climb Jiho than anything else. He winks at them, anyway, then lands a loud, smacking kiss on Jiho’s cheek for emphasis.

//

“Ack,” Jiho coughs, holding his heart to his chest melodramatically as the kids in front of them back away in abject horror. “Careful, you may kill me with all that grease.” 

Jiho turns to face Kyung, who looks mock-offended, his eyebrows drawing together – and he looks so adorable that Jiho can’t resist kissing him on the forehead quickly, further drawing attention to the size difference between them. It works, and Kyung is placated – somewhat – so Jiho takes his hand again and they walk in silence for a while, just observing. The colours, particularly in the tropical tanks, are unreal and he finds himself staring at them like he’s hypnotised, unable to tear his eyes away from the calming sight of the fish, contrasting beautifully with the coral. His fingers itch for his pencils and he wishes he’d brought them – he’ll have to come back here another time to draw.

He deliberately ignores the devil on his shoulder whispering  _ you can’t come here again because it’s tainted with memories of  _ him _ …   _

//

Kyung can tell that Jiho’s finding this infinitely more interesting than he does, and has to physically slow himself down from making a beeline towards the snack counter (which, by the way, sell a selection of fried fish fingers-type snacks, the irony of which isn’t lost on him). For him, though, it’s far more fascinating to watch Jiho be fascinated, to watch Jiho slow down without even quite meaning to as his eye catches on a creature darting between the rocks, appendages a colourful display of the idea that life  _ is _ stranger than fiction. 

“Hey,” Kyung says, once they’ve passed the estimated tenth tank and are now slowly, slowly, so fucking  _ slowly _ circling the giant cylinder that’s three storeys tall, give or take, “gimme a sec.” Then he’s patting Jiho’s ass as he quickly heads off to where he knows there’s a kids’ activity room hiding just around the corner of the corridor. He’d been accosted by some children here, once, church kids that he’d bumped into from one of his trips. So he knows that the room is likely filled with drawing materials of all kinds, though mostly of the pencil and crayon variety. Whatever it is, he grins as he comes in, and is glad to find that it’s so packed that the assistant barely spares Kyung a second glance as he essentially steals a basketful of materials and a stack of colouring sheets.

“Here you go!” he declares proudly, offering the basket up to Jiho. He flips one of the line art of jellyfish over. “It’s lined on this side, but the back is blank.”

//

Jiho looks between the basket of assorted pencils and crayons and felt tip markers and Kyung so fast it’s like he’s watching fucking tennis. Normally  _ he’s _ the one reading Kyung, figuring out what he wants – but somehow, Kyung’d figured out what he wanted most in the world and had brought it to him, smiling and happy.

“Did you read my mind?” Jiho asks, breathless, grinning from ear to ear, grabbing Kyung by the wrist and pulling him in for an ecstatic kiss. “And theft is a crime, you know.”

Not that it really matters, in the end, because if they’re keeping count – well, this isn’t even on the scale. He paws through the basket, sifting past felt tip markers (useless), broken pencils (useless), and even, bizarrely, a sharpie (extra useless). Eventually he comes up with a handful of pencils and crayons that will do, and steers Kyung over in front of the tank so he’s silhouetted by blue, just his outline visible.

“Don’t move,” he warns, and selects a light blue pencil, getting to work immediately.

Jiho has had plenty of practice at drawing Kyung, so it comes almost naturally. He knows the shape of his face like the back of his hand now; knows how to draw the outline of Kyung’s lips, the way his hair flops over his forehead,  _ everything _ . He uses the crayons to soften the edge of the drawing a bit, so it comes out looking ethereal, like Kyung is some sort of underwater angel, or a mermaid. Eventually he finishes on that angle and moves around so he’s facing him, and draws him from this angle, too, his eyes glowing blue in the light. 

In fact, he kind of loses track of time, after that. After he gets done with Kyung he wanders off to some of the other tanks, sketching fish and coral wildly on every spare piece of paper he can, only vaguely aware of Kyung tagging along after him until, eventually, he runs out of space.

“Okay,” he sighs, slumping down on the floor, his back against one of the shark tanks. “I’m all drawn-out. Look.” 

Somewhat shyly, he hands the sheaf of paper over, realising as he watches for Kyung’s reaction that he’s just spent most of their date ignoring him and feeling instantly terrible.  _ Fuck _ .

//

Kyung could get used to this. Not the whole getting drawn thing—that was novel the first time but it’s getting a little weird for him now. He just wasn’t meant to sit still for extended periods of times. What Kyung could get used to is watching Jiho watch him, the way his eyes flicker back and forth from the paper to Kyung, the way his hand moves across the page expertly, the way his mouth hangs open just the slightest in concentration has Kyung transfixed. Around them, the crowd moves likes a lazy body of liquid, with the occasional curious child stopping to peer at whatever the hell they’re doing. Kyung’s the only one who notices, though—the only one who smiles and waves a little at them—because Jiho’s completely absorbed. 

He spends the rest of the time making conversation with the families watching the tanks, hitting children up with fish facts he wish he didn’t knew, but now had irrevocably ingrained in him, thanks to Lee fucking Taeil. At least it’s useful—he gains his fifth high-five of excitement of the day and a grateful look from the parents who usher their kids away from the Strange Fish Man at the Aquarium. He doesn’t mind it, anyway, because every time he glances over to Jiho, he has his head bent over his work, blonde hair haloed a bright blue or a deep red or a neon green, depending on which tank he’s observing this time. 

It’s with a shy look that Jiho hands Kyung his drawings, and Kyung’s so absorbed with looking at them that he barely notices the guilt that crosses Jiho’s face. The first few pieces are of the same tank, done entirely in pencil, black and white strokes delineating the curves of the spotted eels weaving between the rocks, looking more like aliens than creatures of this earth. The subsequent few pieces are bursts of colours, some more detailed than others, but each one a visual feast that has Kyung glancing up at Jiho in disbelief, mostly because he doesn’t know how Jiho could have the patience to draw identical looking schools of fishes so many times in so many ways. And then he reaches the last two sheets; it’s his own face peering out at him again, his hair a tousled mess and his eyes wide with a kind of wonderment he doesn’t think he’s ever felt since he was eight and believed in santa claus. 

“Now you’re just showing off,” Kyung tells Jiho, running a finger over his silhouette, as if doing that could gain him access to whatever the hell Jiho was thinking the precise moment he’d chosen to draw this line. He tucks the papers—carefully—under his arms and pinches the front of Jiho’s jacket to draw him closer, grinning up at him, glad for the bluish lighting of the room because then, Jiho can’t see him blushing as he leans up to kiss his cheek gratefully. He’s never been drawn before, never found a person who’d ever found cause to draw Kyung so many damn times without growing bored. “It’s bad taste on a date, you know. People don’t usually call if you’re like that.”

//

Jiho ducks his head shyly as Kyung kisses him on the cheek. “Yeah?” he asks, linking arms with Kyung. “Good thing I’m too much of a good lay for that to happen.” He winks at Kyung cheekily as they navigate through the crowds of people.

He has no idea how long they’ve been in here – it could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, but he’s completely lost track of time – the huge windowless rooms not helping, either. The others could have just given up on them and decided to head home for all he knows. He finds, though, he doesn’t really care, because he’s spent so much time staring at Kyung today (which is really what he’d like to do every day) that the remainder of his shitty feelings are gone, at least for the moment. Actually, he feels kind of buoyant, like he’s walking on air. It’s a weird feeling, but one he could easily get used to.

//

“Overconfidence isn’t good either,” Kyung informs him teasingly. They’re done here now, that much is clear, so he makes an attempt to figure out exactly where they are in relation to the restaurants and turns them both in that direction. “But you drew me so well, I’ll forgive you.” 

He’s not sure if he should be returning the drawings to Jiho, but he wants to hold onto it just a little longer, if only as a physical reminder of what had transpired between them today. If he’s being honest with himself, he feels like he’s been floating through a dream, and the moment they head out of the exit, their thin bubble would burst and Kyung’d be left feeling confused again. 

“It’s almost time for dinner, so Jaehyo and the others are probably eating,” Kyung mentions as he pushes open the doors of the aquarium, leading them to a brightly-lit corridor full of promotional materials for other museums and exhibits. “I kind of…” He pauses, not sure how to word the rest of his sentence without sounding like he wanted to cling onto Jiho and never let go. “Let’s go off on our own? I don’t think they’d mind.”

//

Jiho blinks and flinches as they exit the aquarium into the bright light of a hallway, scanning the area instantly, wishing he’d brought his knives. The soft, safe bubble they’d been in in the aquarium pops at once and he’s back to his usual, slightly-nervous-in-crowds self – back in there, where everything was soft and hushed and secure, it was easy to forget what he is,  _ who _ he is, what he’s trained to be.

“Sure,” he turns to Kyung hastily, realising he’s been looking around like a crazy person while Kyung waited for a response. “I was thinking that, too. They won’t hate us too much, right?” 

He knows they won’t – Jaehyo and Yukwon have probably bailed as well, if the way they were looking at each other the last time Jiho’d seen them was any indication – but still he worries. He really  _ likes _ Kyung’s friends, and he wants them to like him, too. He smiles at Kyung weakly and squeezes his hand, unsure.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not the first time that Kyung’d wondered if it’s because of Jiho’s estranged parents that he’s so eager to ask for the go-ahead; it’s one thing for Jiho to be concerned whether or not Kyung’s friends liked him (and technically, they were Jiho’s friends too, now), but it’s a whole other thing to have that concern come in a set with a worried, almost nervous smile.

“I think Jaehyo’s ready to replace me with you,” Kyung says, trying to sound disheartened and mostly failing. So he just beams up at Jiho to compensate, squeezing his hand even harder in affirmation as he picks up their speed. “Just for your car— no, _especially_ for your car.” It doesn’t take them all that long to decide which restaurant they’d wanted to order takeaway from after agreeing to drive back to Jiho’s place. The morning rush is worth it if Kyung gets to have a repeat of that morning, only this time on a proper bed and without sea creatures watching them. Probably.

He only remembers to text Jaehyo when they’re at the door to Jiho’s apartment, having been distracted by an impromptu karaoke session in the car. He replies with a quick _we figured and we don’t want to know_ to Kyung’s _sorry, got carried away_ and Kyung grins, waving the phone in Jiho’s face because of Jaehyo’s subsequent _tell Jiho I wanna switch his car for my bicycle, do we have a deal?_ It’s only because he’s doing that that he notices that Jiho’s face had paled considerably, mouth set in a thin, serious line. 

“He’s only kidding,” Kyung tells Jiho, pocketing his phone, “it’s not that he—” The rest of his words are drowned out by loud, popping sounds, and the next thing he knows, he’s on the ground with their takeout spilling under him.

//

Kyung’s waving his phone in Jiho’s face while he keys in the code to his apartment when he hears it – the sound of the elevator doors opening. That alone is no big deal; he knows all the other residents on this floor (he’d done a background check on them all) and they often come home at this hour. What sets him off – what lets him know that it’s all over – is a sound that chills him down to the bone, a sound that he’ll recognise until the end of time, as familiar as breathing.

It’s the sound of a gun being cocked.

They round the corner – three of them, men, tall and wearing all black – and Jiho doesn’t have time to panic, he doesn’t have time to react because they raise their guns and start firing, and he’s putting one hand on Kyung’s shoulder and _shoving_ him to the ground as his other hand keys in the last number. Hearing the door click open, he shoves his shoulder against it and, grabbing Kyung by the wrist, drags him into the apartment, slamming the door behind them.

Kyung looks up at him, terrified, and more than anything he wants to crouch down and pull him close, tell him that everything is going to be okay for the last time– his cover has been blown and he knows this is the beginning of the end, but he can’t even _think_ about that right now because if he doesn’t play this right they’ll both be dead.

“Get behind the lounge and _don’t fucking move_ ,” he barks, _hating_ the way his voice sounds.

He only has a minute, at most, and as he turns and sprints down the hallway to the weapons room, he sees Kyung leap into action out of the corner of his eye, vaulting over the lounge and crouching behind it. He doesn’t bother with the key, just kicks down the door – _once, twice,_ his boot hits the wood before it splinters and goes flying. He grabs the closest things to him – his knives, his favourite pair with the engraved blades, and a pistol, lying on the bench closest to the door. It’ll be loaded – he is nothing but not prepared – and it will do so he grabs it and sticks it in his belt, turning on his heel and diving behind the lounge just in time for the front door to explode inwards, dust blanketing the air.

He turns to look at Kyung, just for a second, and oh, _god,_ the heavens align in that moment because Jiho feels his heart fucking splitting in two. Kyung’s looking at him like he doesn’t know who he is, like Jiho is a stranger, and Jiho has never seen anything more painful. He thought he’d prepared for this moment, but he was lying to himself – lying to himself all along just like the way he’d lied to Kyung. 

A gunshot ricochets through the apartment and he snaps back to the here and now – protect Kyung. Eliminate the threat. Those are his goals and he’s fucking good at his job, he’s always been good at his job, and this is going to be no different. Three of them is nothing; almost a walk in the park, even if he’s only got six bullets and two knives. 

Taking the gun from his belt, he flicks off the safety and cocks it, his eyes hard. 

//

The stupidest thing is: all Kyung can think about is the take-out they’d gotten, the take-out that he’d _spilled_ when Jiho’d shoved him to the ground. He’d chosen that Noodle Set #2 after great deliberation and after Jiho had made fun of him for being so wishy washy over something like _noodles_. _Jiho_. Jiho and the look in his eye when he’d instructed for Kyung to get behind the couch, like he’d done this a hundred times before, like this was nothing but a mild irritant to him, like the hundreds of times Kyung had woken up in the middle of the night to a party raging somewhere in the hallway. Just like that, Kyung realizes that this is a version of Jiho he’s never met before, someone wholly new, who strides out of his godamn _closet_ armed to the teeth with weapons that Kyung’d only ever seen in action movies and in Jaehyo’s games.

No, he’s wrong on that count. He’s seen this version of Jiho before—he’d met him the very first time they’d crossed paths, when Jiho had been no one but a stranger holding a blood-soaked t-shirt that Kyung couldn’t stop staring at. The staring seems to be a recurrent theme: for a hair-splitting moment, they come face to face and Jiho looks so fucking murderous, Kyung’s blood goes cold and he gulps, mouth opening to say something, to ask if he’s fucking dreaming, if he’d wake up to find that he’d fallen asleep to fucking Gee and Jiho just didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

His question dies in his throat with the next loud blast—it’s one that sends the couch bumping harmlessly against them even as they’re showered in dust and debris. By the time he recovers—hacking, coughing, _choking_ —Jiho’s crouching in one tense line, gun held at a 90-degree angle to his body.

He realizes that had the couch not been there, he’d be a bloody strip across the ground now, and dimly wonders if Jiho had placed it that way on purpose, if he _knew_ , if he—oh, who the fuck is Kyung gonna kid? Jiho’s holding a godamn gun. If that isn’t more telling than anything else, than Kyung’d been stupider than he thought that he’d been. Oddly enough, a hot feeling rushes up his throat. It’s a feeling he’s associated with crying, which really isn’t the time nor place. He’s shaking too, he realizes, as he presses a hand to the couch to check if it’s real, if anything is real, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to touch Jiho.

//

He pops up over the back of the lounge and lets off a shot that hits one of them straight between the eyes, just like he’d been trained, just like he’d had drilled into him from the beginning. He goes down instantly, the man behind him stepping over his body like nothing has happened, shooting at Jiho calmly. He ducks back behind the lounge, but not in time; the bullet grazes his cheek and he feels a blinding flash of pain. _Too fucking close_.

There’s only two left now, and he knows where they are, where they’re heading – they’re going to want to eliminate him and Kyung both, which means they’re probably circling around the coffee table as they speak. He shifts closer to the end of the lounge, glancing back to see if Kyung’s still there – he is, albeit looking like he’s about to burst into tears or be sick, which is a normal reaction – before picking up one of his knives from where he’s dropped them on the floor, leaning over as much as he dares, looking for shadows –

He doesn’t see a shadow, but he hears the _crunch_ of a boot on a shattered piece of wood, his ears pinpointing the location of the sound instantly. Taking a chance – a very big one – he throws his knife blind, hoping to god that senses haven’t let him down (perhaps the bullet did more damage than he thought; his ears are ringing and he feels slightly dizzy). In the relative silence of the apartment there’s a _thunk_ as the knife hits its target, and then a choked gurgle, and then a body hitting the floor.

Jiho doesn’t have time to celebrate, even though he feels slightly smug (he can’t help it – it’s been ingrained in him now). It’s a kill that would have gotten him top marks back in training, but this isn’t training and there’s still one more man who wants to gut him like a fish, and his main priority is Kyung. Time is still moving in slow motion so, as he whirls back around to face Kyung and sees the third man rounding the corner of the lounge, he raises his gun in one smooth motion and fires once, twice – once in the head, once in the heart, the bullets flashing past Kyung’s face, making him cringe back desperately into the sofa.

//

This can’t be real, Kyung tells himself, over and over and over and over again, like a mantra, like they’re the only words he can remember how to use properly, _this can’t be fucking real_. It can’t be real. He can’t be crouched behind the sofa, watching the man who’d beamed at him just moments earlier, when Kyung’d taken his hand to walk them both upstairs, turn his aim on another person and pull the trigger. This can’t be real. If this were real, then— Kyung shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut, wills this to go the fuck away.

No way. There’s no way in hell. 

He doesn’t get to dwell much on that thought, because the next thing he knows, Jiho’s (Kyung doesn’t think that name is proper, now, for some reason, because his memories of someone called Jiho is so far dissociated from his reality that it makes him want to empty his lunch all over the dust-coated ground) rounding back to face him again. He’s so transfixed on the slightly pleased look on Jiho’s face that he doesn’t notice the bullets whizzing past him, the sound sharp and thin in the air next to his ear. It’s only out of instinct that he jerks aside, plastering himself helplessly to the couch because there’s nothing else he can do but tell himself that this will all be over soon.

And it does—Jiho pumps two last bullets out of his gun ( _pop_ , the sound goes, like the sound of one solitary firework, _pop_ and Kyung can feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach) and the guy goes down with a loud thud. Kyung whirls around to check, more out of a morbid sense of curiousity and the need to see if the body would miraculously disappear, indicating that he was, in fact, dreaming. He’s sweating, now, despite not having a single part in this, and it’s with shaky legs that he gets up, motivated by the need to put as much distance between the man in front of him—cheek bleeding a bright, glimmering red, a painfully stark difference from the pale of his hair and his skin and oh _god_ , Kyung’s _really_ going to be sick.

//

It’s over. 

Silence falls over the apartment like a blanket, the only sounds being the breath wheezing its way out of Jiho’s chest as he pants, rasping and heavy. Kyung is staring at him like – well, he’s absolutely fucking horrified, and Jiho doesn’t know what to do so he just stands there, the gun in one hand and knife in another.

Then Kyung starts getting up and scrambling backwards, shaking his head, holding his hand over his mouth. Jiho steps forward helplessly, dropping his weapons like they’re burning him, trying desperately to ignore how snarled up he feels. He’s still bursting with adrenaline, and he really should make sure the man he knifed is dead, but that all pales in the face of… of Kyung, looking at Jiho like he’s a terrifying stranger. “Kyung –” he begins, stepping forward, but Kyung turns and is sick on the floor and Jiho blanches. 

He knows (he knows, but he _hates_ it) that he’s no use to Kyung like this – emotional and soft, because all he can do is offer words and touches, and Kyung wants none of that. So he slams shut an iron gate across his feelings, becoming the person he was before he met Kyung – a piece of him dies as he does so, but what can he do? – and turns, heading to the bedroom and snagging a blanket from the end of the bed, returning and approaching Kyung with it held out in front of him like a shield, treating him as he would any other survivor.

Kyung moans, an awful sound of despair and confusion and pain that slides into Jiho neatly, just below his heart, the pain so abrupt he stops and gasps for air. Kyung looks back at him and – no. He can’t allow himself to feel right now so he cauterises every nerve ending, killing everything, leaving him dead inside as he steps closer and wraps the blanket around Kyung. “Are you hurt?” he asks, concern creeping into his voice as much as he wills it not to

//

“Don’t,” Kyung answers, taking a sharp step back, letting the blanket hang over his shoulders loosely. It’s the first thing he’s said since this all first started. It seemed like an eternity had passed—like an entire lifetime’d flashed in front of Kyung where he did have a happy ending with Jiho, and not whatever the hell this was, this _is_ —but really, it’d been more like five minutes. Or less. Jiho had killed more people in less than five minutes than Kyung’d ever seen die in his life. It’s this thought that has him quickly rushing in the direction of Jiho’s toilet to be sick all over again.

And it’s not that he has any compunctions about throwing up all over Jiho’s floor—because really, nothing was off-limits now, apparently—it’s because he needs to get away, he needs to get away because every time he blinks, he sees Jiho raising the muzzle of his gun, the impassioned look on his face tinged by the slightest hint of anger, and then _pop_ —Kyung dry heaves over the sink again, face beaded with sweat, his heart racing a mile a minute.

He needs to get out of here. He needs to leave this all behind and climb into his bed and listen to Jaehyo tinker away in the background well into the night, talking aloud to himself. Normalcy. He needs normalcy. He needs to step out of this bathroom—with its gleaming tiles and its too-neat counters that has Kyung wondering if this apartment was Jiho’s at all—and find Jiho sitting a little awkwardly on his own couch.

How far does this go? How much of everything that Jiho’d said had been a lie? How deep will Kyung have to plunge himself into before he finds something like the truth? Maybe there’s an explanation, after all. Because Jiho was _ambushed_. Maybe he did have an explanation, and maybe Kyung should listen to him. But as it is, with the corpses littering the living room, Kyung finds it very hard not to flee.

// 

It takes everything that Jiho has – every last bastion of strength he’s clinging to, desperately – to not follow Kyung into the bathroom. But he will not allow himself to be emotional, he cannot, because if he does he will fall apart completely and totally and then they’ll _both_ be useless. So he gets up and wipes his cheek, sees the crimson of the blood, so stark against the pale of his skin, and shudders. He could have very easily died because he let his emotions get in the way.

He walks around to look at the man he’s knifed and clicks his tongue impassively. His knife, miraculously, embedded itself in the man’s neck and he’d died instantly, or near-instantly. Jiho breathes a shaky sigh of relief, placing his foot on the man’s chest and yanking his knife out, staring at it distastefully.

He is torn – cleanup or go to Kyung? This is the first time this apartment has been violated, the first time he’s been ambushed like this, in his home. Who _were_ they? Who sent them? They aren’t anyone he recognises, although that doesn’t mean anything because there are thousands of Organisation agents all over the country. Someone could have ordered a hit on him, or – 

No. That possibility is too horrific to think about so he turns and heads to the bathroom, his feet making the decision for him. Kyung is staring into the mirror over the sink, looking pale and shaky and sweaty, clinging desperately to the sink as he trembles so hard his teeth chatter.

“Kyung,” Jiho begins, clearing his throat. Kyung still doesn’t look at him. “Kyung,” he tries again, a bit more sharply this time. “You’re going into shock. Come on.”

//

"You think?" Kyung eventually manages as his defense mechanism kicks. He sounds horribly thinned and strained, like a fish out of water with no way to get back in, and he finds himself scrubbing his hands harder and longer than necessary just so he can put off looking at Jiho.

 _Not Jiho_ , his brain supplies, helpfully, dismissively. Right. Not the Jiho of soft, shy smiles, not the Jiho whose hand had been firm and steadying on Kyung's back, not the Jiho who'd used that same hand to etch out Kyung's countenance with a tenderness that took Kyung's breath away. Not that Jiho. Not his Jiho. 

But when he eventually spins around, arms wrapped around himself in a bid to hold everything together, Jiho looks exactly the same—there's that familiar concern on his face, his long, blonde hair, haloed by the bright lights in the bathroom. The only disfiguration is the cut on his cheek, but that has worry rising in Kyung's throat that shouldn't be there. It's obvious enough that he's far more capable than Kyung is to deal with... with all this. This probably isn't his first gig, Kyung realizes blankly, shuddering as he shut his eyes. One last chance for all this to go away, for Kyung to wake up. 

It doesn't, of course, so the next thing he says is, "You're bleeding," and touches his own cheek to indicate the cut on Jiho's.

// 

Jiho shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Are you hurt?” He lifts his hand as if to touch Kyung, but they both know that’s not going to happen so his hand hovers in the air uselessly before falling back to his thigh with a decidedly final _slap_.

If Kyung is injured, he’ll never forgive himself. He can’t _see_ any blood anywhere, but that doesn’t mean anything; there could be any number of internal injuries. Jiho has to be prepared for the worst, like always, and that includes Kyung – although he’d been unprepared for this attack. He’d been right when he’d realised that Kyung made him weak; that’s the worst thing to think about, that something that felt so good could leave him reeling when the shit hit the fan.

If Kyung’s hurt then he needs to treat that. If he’s not, then he needs to clean up the bodies, scrub the place, dispose of as much evidence as he can – and then what? Should he move to a safehouse (he has a few stashed around the country) or should he stay here? He’s lost, fumbling around in the dark uselessly, blinded with his hands tied because he doesn’t _know_ anything and he fucking hates it, he hates feeling like this.

//

 _Are you hurt?_ Jiho's question echoes in the space between them and Kyung wants to laugh at the incredulity of it all. He isn't, not physically, no, but watching all _that_ go down with the knowledge that everything that he'd ever known about Woo Jiho? The sparse, infrequent bites of information he'd ever been offered? Everything was probably a godamn lie. So was Kyung okay? Was Kyung _hurt?_

"I'm fine," he replies, watching Jiho's aborted motion with a sort trepidation that he realizes is fear. He's scared, not only of being shot, but of _Jiho_ and the great unknown that he represented. Even so, he's tempted to just take Jiho's hand and draw him into a hug, to press his face against Jiho's chest and exhale and let everything drain out of him.

But then he thinks about the bodies lying just beyond this room and he feels like he could be sick all over again. "But you're not. I need you to—" To what? To wipe that blood off his face so Kyung can at least tackle this calmly, instead of the hysteria he's slowly reaching? He doesn't even know, but he spins around a grab a washcloth off of where it's hanging on the rack and wets it, just to give himself something to do, to give himself time to remember how to ask the questions burning in him. Wordlessly, he turns back around to face Jiho, holding the damp cloth out to him.

//

Jiho looks at the washcloth and then back at Kyung, not moving. Kyung’s expression is unreadable, and for the first time ever Jiho can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Slowly, like he’s trying to soothe a flighty animal, he reaches forward and takes the washcloth, dabbing away the blood on his face. As he does, he can feel the skin around it is red and raised and blistered – a burn from the red-hot bullet as it whizzed past.

“Can you – uh. Could you please hand me the butterfly bandages in the cabinet?” He asks quietly, nodding towards the cabinet above the sink.

Kyung’s motions are robotic as he does what he’s told, offering Jiho the box of bandages gingerly. He watches as Jiho uses the now-open door of the cabinet as a mirror to close the wound and hold it together with the bandages as best he can, sponging the rest of the blood off his face as he does so. The silence grows between them, but he doesn’t know what to say, where to begin. How can he? How can he stand here and tell the man he – he loves that everything he is is a lie? That he is not Woo Jiho, art student with rich, asshole parents? That he isn’t _normal?_ He stares at his reflection in the mirror for a second more before looking at Kyung, biting his lip, completely unsure of what to do, what to _say_. He can’t fix this, as much as he’d like to, and it hurts.

//

Somehow, this feels more normal than everything else that had transpired in the past few minutes. He’s used to this—patching people up, especially when he sometimes worked with children, was an easy job, even if he had to actively try not to think about how Jiho’s gotten the wound. It’s no use, though, because he slaps on the bandages with the expectation for them to clot and hold it together but it’s just not right. Kyung’s hands twitches and—

“Here, let me—” He closes in on Jiho and gently—as best as he can, considering his hands are _still_ shaking—and eases the bit he’d taped down wrongly off of his angry, red skin, and then smoothens the bandage before pressing it down again. The whole thing takes less than a minute, but Kyung finds that he can barely breathe, holding Jiho away at a careful arm’s length. He’s not sure what he’s so scared of—he _knows_ that if Jiho hadn’t cared, Kyung would be riddled with holes by now. So he knows. He tells himself he knows that at least Jiho’s feelings were real. Are real.

Then he busies himself with putting the box back into the cabinet, a superfluous, facetious action considering the destruction in Jiho’s living room. But it’s with his back turned to Jiho that he can finally muster up the courage to say, even if a little lamely, “You’re not an art student, are you?” because he doesn’t even know where to begin with the rest of the questions: _who are you? Is that your real name? Why did you say you’re someone you’re not? Why did you let me fall for you?_  

//

Jiho blanches at the question, although he knew it was coming. He feels so… disarmed and vulnerable around Kyung, in ways that no one has ever made him feel before; he’s stripped bare now, and he hates it.

“No,” he murmurs, staring at the back of Kyung’s head as he tidies up, the truth feeling good on his tongue. “In another life, maybe.”

Perhaps he should give him the whole truth, but he opens his mouth to do so and nothing comes out, he’s just gasping for air. He can’t. He _can’t_. But he can’t lie, either, he just – he’s floundering, drowning, useless. He hasn’t even scouted the fucking area, doesn’t know if there’s snipers on the roof or more hitmen waiting in the lobby downstairs; he just doesn’t _know_ and his frustration builds. He should turn and walk away right now, take care of business first and look after Kyung later – but.

There’s always a _but_ when Park Kyung is around.

//

Kyung recognizes the non-answer for what it is—evasion, that even until now, when they’re standing here in the aftermath of all that had happened. He hadn’t considered them to be lies at first, not when he didn’t know what Jiho was trying to cover up. But that’s what they are: lies. And Jiho’s layered one over the other until Kyung has no idea what he’s looking at any more. It hurts even more when he realizes that he doesn’t know, even from the start, what he was looking at, that Jiho could be lying through his teeth even in this moment.

Because Jiho looks calm. Jiho looks like he’s done this before, and that Kyung’s merely an anomaly he hadn’t factored in. Or there may have been other Kyungs before this, other people Jiho looked at with that grin, other people Jiho kissed with that same sort of wonderment, other people that Jiho had drawn and kept filed away. Or discarded. It’s that thought that hurt the most, because here Kyung thought he’d found something he was going to get to keep forever, but that sentiment had been a one-way street. And how lonely it feels.

“Why?” Kyung asks instead, his voice ringing loud and clear in the bathroom, with a hint of anger belying his tone. He’s not sure what _why_ he’s asking about either. Why me? Why all those people? Why did you even lie in the first place?

//

Jiho runs his hand through his hair and takes a step back, Kyung’s words biting down to his soul. He’s between a rock and a hard place – this is, by far, the worst situation he’s ever been in in his entire life. Because never before has he felt like _this_ about someone, never has he been so powerless at the feet of someone else. It’s this fact that wakes him up to the knowledge that Kyung _deserves to know_. He just… he deserves to know. Jiho has stolen enough of his time already, selfishly.

“Why what?” He asks, wrapping his arms around himself and closing his eyes as he commits to his words. “You’re… I… Ask anything you want. I’ll give you the truth.” He opens his eyes and looks at Kyung, ripping open his chest and offering him his heart with his words. “The real truth, this time.”

The acknowledgement of all the lies spoken – god, it hurts, more than he thought anything possibly could. He wants to keel over right then and there, he wants to disappear, he wants to take every drug in the world and forget he’s ever heard Park Kyung’s name but he can’t – he’s the one who started this, and so commit to it he shall.

//

Haven’t those been the words that Kyung would’ve been ecstatic to hear just that afternoon? But the aquarium seemed so far away, that Kyung could’ve mistaken it for a feverish dream. He doesn’t want to know, he realizes, doesn’t want to hear any more of Jiho’s lies lest he fell for them again. Once bitten, twice shy, right? The next time he finds himself in a situation like this, he has no one to blame but himself.

But even as he tries to convince himself of that, he finds that he can’t let it go. He can’t see Jiho and just look away. So much time had been spent gravitating towards him that trying to break free of Jiho’s orbit seemed like a herculean task.

“ _Is_ there a real truth?” Kyung asks, but it’s the same way you would ask about the weather to someone whom you were stuck with when the elevator to work broke down. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, anyway, not for the fact that Jiho doesn't know what's going on either, but that he's had so many chances to tell Kyung that he isn't what he is, but he'd chosen to steamroll ahead with his lies. 

//

Jiho closes his eyes, knowing what he’s about to say will set them on a path that is irrevocable, irreversible; but he’s gone too far, he always goes too far with Kyung.

“Yes… There’s a real truth,” he replies, clutching onto his stomach as if to anchor himself. “You’re not going to like it.”

He opens his eyes to see Kyung looking at him, devoid of expression, and he exhales. If he’s going to do this – if he’s going to reveal what he really is, turn himself inside out – they should at least be sitting down, because he’s sure Kyung will fall over when all the pieces fall into place. He straightens up, intending to head back to the lounge room, but then remembers the bodies. The bedroom’s memories are too powerful, and there’s nowhere else – so he ducks around Kyung to shut the lid of the toilet and gestures for him to sit, waiting for him to do so, folding to the floor in front of him and crossing his legs in what has to be one of the most bizarre scenes he’s been a part of in his whole life. 

Kyung’s looking at him expectantly, and he ducks his head and begins, his awful words dealing the killing blow to whatever budding relationship they had started.

“I… I’m…” he starts, his voice sounding weak and thin. “I was… God.” He looks up at Kyung and breathes in and out, starting from the beginning.

“I haven’t spoken to my father since I was fifteen. My mother died when I was nineteen. I was shit in school because I – I always got into fights. I decided to go into the military as soon as I graduated because I didn’t know what else to do with my life; my marks were shit and the only thing I was good at was fighting.”

Kyung is just looking perplexed, now, not expectant, but he can’t stop now. “I left the army and… drifted… I still couldn’t get into university. I had no friends, no family, nothing. I started fighting for money to get by, ‘cause it was the only thing I knew how to do. Still is, I guess…” 

He goes into details about how he’d been contacted by the Organisation, about the mysterious woman he’d met and who he’d never seen again, about how he didn’t really know what he was signing up for but it was the last chance at anything he’d ever get, so he’d taken it. All the while, as he speaks, he watches Kyung go paler and paler and collapse inwards into himself, fading away in front of Jiho’s very eyes.

//

Kyung had been right about one thing all along—he _didn’t_ want to hear this. But at the same time, he can’t bring himself to interrupt Jiho, doesn’t _know_ how to interrupt Jiho without sounding selfish. Although that alone is an ironic concept, considering that Jiho’d actively lied to him until they found themselves right in the middle of the shitstorm. 

He doesn’t know he’d folded his legs up against his chest—as though trying to put as much space between Jiho and himself, as though trying to disappear right on the spot he sat—until there’s nothing but the silence of his heart thudding against his chest. What does Jiho want him to say? What does he want from Kyung, when he’d taken all there is to take and swallowed Kyung whole? His confusion rearranges itself with every word Jiho speaks, and turns into a hot, scalding anger, determined to turn itself from inside out. 

When he opens his mouth, it’s to laugh incredulously, dragging a slightly trembling hand through his hair, trying to sort out everything he’s heard. In the end, all he gleans is this: “So you had a choice, and you chose… this.” Kyung gestures with a slightly shaky hand in the direction of the open door, where the living room stayed eerily silent. Three lives, Kyung thinks, three lives extinguished with a press of Jiho’s trigger.

// 

“I didn’t see that I had a choice,” Jiho answers immediately, at least having the gall to sound ashamed, like Kyung’s laughter doesn’t slice into him like blades. “I was young and naive and it paid well. I was going nowhere, doing nothing… I would have died on the street.” 

What he doesn’t say is this: _if I could turn back time and change it, I would._

What he doesn’t say: _I would give you the world if you asked._

What he doesn’t say: _I hate myself more than you ever could._

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, knowing those words mean nothing, _less_ than nothing, but having nothing else to give anyway. Kyung has bled him dry and he’s nothing but an empty vessel, a wrecked shell ripped and shredded in the wake of what was.

//

 _Save it_ , Kyung wants to say, because all he’s filled with now is a sort of bitter angriness that isn’t even realistic because he should be _scared_. He’d just watched a man kill three others in cold blood, but none of that is registering quite as clearly as the fact that there seemed to be two men seated in front of him—one’s the stranger wreathed in gold, the one who’d run up to the church steps to Kyung this morning, and the other is… this. A man who held a gun up as easily as he held his pencil, a man who could lie to Kyung without batting an eyelid, who could lie to Kyung while sounding bereaved and upset, who could take Kyung on a joyride and leave Kyung in the wreckage when it all fucks up.

And he sounds apologetic now, he sounds thin and small and too much like he’s offering up himself at Kyung’s feet. Kyung’s traitorous heart clenches in his chest, forcing him to look away, to focus on the bathtub or the ridiculous looking gilded water taps or the ceiling or anywhere else that wasn’t currently occupied by Woo Jiho, but he might not be. It’s not as though Kyung would ever know. 

“You don’t have to—“ he starts, but then stops again when the sound of something moving comes from the living room, where there were supposed to be _corpses_ , not more people coming to get them. He exchanges a look with Jiho, all the remaining blood draining quickly from his face. 

// 

Jiho growls, a sound coming low in his throat, at the fact that his house has been violated, not once but _twice_. Not only have these people ruined everything – he still doesn’t know who they _are_ – but they’re coming back for more, wanting to finish them off.

Except, you know, _fuck that_ because as much as he wants to die he won’t do it on someone else’s terms – no, he’ll go out when he decides and not a moment before. So he gets up from the floor and heads to the door, striding forward, throwing a “don’t move and don’t watch,” over his shoulder as he goes… And sees Kyung staring up at him plaintively, looking very small indeed, and Jiho decides he won’t kill these ones, even if it’s harder. 

He sprints and dives behind the now bullet-ridden lounge once more, seeing them turn to him out of the corner of his eye; dressed all in black, again, both men. They step around the bodies of their colleagues easily, seemingly not even noticing them; as Jiho picks up his gun and leans around the side of the lounge and shoots one in the leg, he realises they’re using the same tactics he would, and he _really_ doesn’t want to think about that. The other one combat rolls to the other side but Jiho’s ready for him, grabbing him by the collar and using his other hand to bat away the pistol that he tries to raise, heatbutting him viciously and being rewarded with the satisfying crunch of breaking bones and the feel of blood being sprayed all over his face as this one goes down, too.

He turns in a slow circle, panting, observing the bodies littered around his home (because as cold and clinical as this apartment is, it’s still _his_ ), the man with the bullet wound in his leg writhing around and groaning, the other one knocked out cold. Kyung’s poking his head out of the bathroom and in a flash of rage Jiho strides over and grabs him by the wrist, ignoring the frisson that runs through him when they touch, dragging him by the wrist to the other end of the hallway into his weapons room where he grabs a bag and starts loading up.

“I told you not to watch,” he mutters, his anger dissipating slightly as he sees Kyung standing in the doorway looking very small indeed.

“You didn’t kill them,” Kyung replies, his eyes flicking around the room nervously, and Jiho can’t discern what he’s saying – is it a question? Is he in awe?

He doesn’t have time to care because if they’ve sent another two they’ll send more, so he throws as many weapons into the bag as he can (shotgun, another two pistols, a few grenades, knives of various sizes, his favourite jacket) and turns, heading back into the living room where the feel of death settles over him once more.

“We have to go,” he throws to Kyung over his shoulder, his mind running at a thousand miles an hour. “More are coming.” 

// 

Jiho had essentially told him to sit still, but Kyung doesn’t want to. In the end, he doesn’t trust Jiho not to leave him to die. And yeah, he may have the same level of propensity towards self-defense as a potted plant, but at least it’s _something_.

Kyung catches the tail-end of the fight, of the man in black sneaking up on Jiho, and Jiho… Jiho fights like someone out of an action sequence, smooth and efficient, leaving no room for hesitance or errors. He doesn’t look like he needs to think about what he’s doing, to calculate his next move or to examine what the threat would do, he just _does_. It’s as easy as breathing, and the thought has Kyung seizing up slightly. He’s only snapped out of his stupor when Jiho makes a grab for him and drags him out of the bathroom, his grip scorchingly tight around Kyung’s wrist, so much so that Kyung thinks he’s going to leave a mark. But he already has, in his own way, and Kyung wants to wash it all off, wants to wash off the imagery of blood spraying across Jiho’s unflinching face, of the red dripping down Jiho’s face like he’s operating his own macabre freak show. 

At least they’re not dead, Kyung tells himself, and says so aloud, earning a confused look from Jiho. He wants them to go. He wants them to leave _now_. _We_ ; the word echoes in Kyung’s head like a morbid reminder that there had been a we, and now that _we_ ‘d been ripped into half by one of Jiho’s bullets.

His mouth goes dry as he responds with a quiet, “You seem perfectly alright handling them,” like it’s one of his fights with Jaehyo or Taeil over something entirely petty, like leaving the toilet roll empty instead of replacing it, or throwing wet laundry on Kyung’s bed instead of hanging it up to dry. And then he snorts and laughs as he bites his lip, as though this were one large practical joke, because he thinks that if he doesn’t, if he doesn’t fight back in some way, he’s going to start crying. 

He complies anyway; it’s not like he has any other choice. He’s not about to become an expert in throwing a godamn knife or in cracking someone’s face until blood spurts from it. No, all he can do is helplessly follow in Jiho’s footsteps, to stare at the broad plane of Jiho’s shoulders and think, _fuck, what we had was so good_ , and lament the loss of something that had never really been there. 

//

Jiho wipes his face on his sleeve as he gets in the elevator, stabbing the button for the basement, where his car is parked. He has an inkling – a terrible, terrible feeling in his gut – of what’s going on, but right now his mind is racing with thoughts of how to get Kyung where he belongs – safe and sound, in his crappy little dorm room with Jaehyo, his life the picture of normalcy (that’s a lie, actually – where he belongs is in Jiho’s arms, but that’s never going to happen again). He wants to reach down and take Kyung’s hand under the pretense of concern – not really a pretense, but it’s the only way he’s ever going to feel Kyung again – but he’s struck with a sudden shyness that makes his limbs heavy.

The doors open and he strides forward, leaving Kyung to jog to catch up, fumbling in his pocket for his car keys and unlocking it as he reaches it, popping the boot and throwing the bag in there. They slide into the car wordlessly, Kyung doing up his seatbelt as Jiho turns on the ignition and peels out of the carpark, noting headlights in his rear-view mirror as he does so, not bothering with his own seatbelt. 

“If I’m right…” he begins, and then pauses to do a high-speed handbrake turn out of the carpark, the wheels of the car screaming. “If I’m right, they’re not after you or me individually. They’re out for us together.”

As the streetlights flash past, illuminating Kyung’s face and then plunging it into darkness again, he realises it was only today that he and Jaehyo had been in the car, and they’d all laughed, so genuinely happy that it makes Jiho’s breath catch in his throat. It seems a world away, now, like the old, filtered memory of a long-ago time – he worries it will fade entirely.

// 

Kyung doesn’t know where Jiho intends to take them but he doesn’t know how to ask, doesn’t know what kind of answer he can expect. At any rate, between the both of them, Kyung has no power to change anything. He wonders how much of Jiho’s shyness had been calculated, how much of the steps he’d taken around Kyung had been measured precisely. And to what end? For them to sit here, now, in uncomfortably tense silence, as Kyung tries to avoid looking at Jiho’s reflection in the mirror, gaze fixed on the roads blurring around them instead?

“And?” Kyung prompts, because he’s tired of asking for more. He’s tired of being led around in circles only to realize that there’s no treasure in the middle of the maze, just a gaping hole with no end. That’s what Woo Jiho looks like to him right now, a black hole, a story stitched together for the sake of having a story, a conundrum that Kyung would never get to solve. And he shouldn’t _want_ to, not any more.

They turn down a few more streets, the car zooming at a speed that Kyung would’ve found terrifying if he wasn’t currently faced with greater horrors, and Kyung starts to suddenly piece together where they were headed to. There was the mall that Kyung and Jiho had first met in, and then they hang a left into a narrower alleyway—the one that housed the coffee shop they had their first cup together—and come shooting out onto the main street in a way that was far from inconspicuous.

“You’re sending me back?” Kyung asks, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. This, somehow, was the least expected outcome of them all, for some reason. Even as he’d yearned for normalcy as he stared at himself in the mirror, he didn’t think Jiho would be the one to thrust it back at him.

//

“You have a life to live,” Jiho mutters as he yanks the wheel left, feeling the car’s back end swing out, holding the drift for as long as he can. “For every moment we’re together your life is in danger. Besides,” he smiles sardonically over at Kyung as he runs through a red light, “I don’t think you want to be with me right now.” _Or ever_ , he adds in his head, the words hanging unspoken between them.

He makes a few more turns as they approach the university, biting his lip and checking in his rearview mirror. Even with his car’s 500bhp, he hasn’t managed to shake the tail – but that’s ok. He needs an audience for what he’s planning. “When we stop, we need to have a fight. Real, fake, whatever – doesn’t matter. They just need to see it, they need to think we’re…"

Jiho can’t bring himself to say the words, they choke in his throat, and he coughs awkwardly, blinking hard. “...They need to think we’ve broken up very publically. Very irreversibly. So you need to… I don’t know. Shout. Hit me. Tell me you hate me and you never want to see me again. If we make it believable enough, they’ll leave you alone and you can forget I ever existed.”

Which is probably for the best, as much as it kills him to speak those words. He’s brought nothing but death and destruction to Kyung’s life, which he doesn’t deserve; he needs normalcy and there’s no way Jiho can give that to him, not right now and possibly not ever. As _right_ as they felt together, it just wasn’t meant to be, and he’ll always hate himself for not being the Woo Jiho that Kyung had thought he was.

Jiho pulls to a stop in front of the dorm and looks over at Kyung, exhaling slowly. “Are you ready?”

It doesn’t matter if they are or not because the headlights pull in behind them and the car that’s been tailing them stops, its engine idling, and Jiho knows it’s now or never so he gets out and runs around to open Kyung’s door, taking a deep breath and preparing himself for whatever Kyung’s going to say.

//

He barely has time to take in what Jiho is saying before the car pulls to a stop in front of the guard house he’d seen a million times before, students milling around on a Sunday night, looking very much like they’d spent a weekend _not_ discovering that the person they had been dating most recently turned out to be some sort of contract killer. It’s a jarring disparity, and it’s one that drains Kyung’s words out of him completely. He doesn’t have time to protest, though, to point out that he _has_ nothing left to say. That he doesn’t owe Jiho anything, and that Jiho owes him even less, that Jiho made it sound like this is partly Kyung’s fault, when Kyung never wanted a hand in it.

(But he recognizes the feeling he gets when Jiho exits the car and crosses it in two swift steps, hair billowing around him in the cool night wind like some sort of vengeful angel; Kyung’s heart skips a godamn beat and he wishes he hadn’t looked in the first place.)

Then Jiho’s wrenching his car door open and Kyung still _doesn’t_ know what to say. He’d never been a spectacular break-ups type guy, and more of the let’s-stay-friends type ex. But Park Kyung is nothing but full of theatrics. Besides, it’s easier to think of it as that—just an act played for invisible eyes, instead of Park Kyung’s honest feelings bleeding through him. 

He steps out of the car a little shakily, arms wrapped around himself as a way for him to pick up his own courage. There’s a silent moment as he looks up at Jiho, and Jiho looks back down at him with a measured gaze. He looks afraid, Kyung realizes, more afraid than he’d looked while he was cracking the skull of another man, more afraid than he’d looked picking his way over dead bodies of his own doing. The derisive laugh comes to him easily then, the splutter of disbelief as he looks away, his breath coming out in a white cloud of hot air. 

His voice may escalate shakily, but he’s not acting when he says, “The whole time we’ve been together, that was all a lie, wasn’t it?” and he’s not acting when he says, “I thought we had something, and it turns out I was right: _I_ thought,” and he’s not acting when he says, “When it comes to you, I never know.” Worst of all, the tears the spill hotly onto his cheeks? Park Kyung isn’t _that_ good of an actor.

// 

Jiho blanches, physically staggering back a step at the way the words come to Kyung so easily, at the fact they both know he’s not acting, not in the way he speaks but also in the way he cries, shivering in the cold. 

“I – we did have something,” Jiho starts, stepping closer and touching Kyung on the arm, daring this in the hopes of a violent reaction. “I felt things for you I’ve never felt for anyone else. I’m – I lied, and I’m sorry, but I had to.”

He sees the anger mix with disbelief on Kyung’s face, and braces himself for his words that will doubtless hurt more than any blow he’s been dealt before. 

// 

He jerks away sharply, his reaction almost instantaneous; it’s not the touch that sends him reeling, it’s that Jiho makes the claim that everything that had happened between them is real. _Was_ real, Kyung reminds himself, breathing in a shocking gulp of icy cold air. He looks pathetic now, he’s aware, crying into this staged break-up like he really means it. Because he does. It hurts, and it hurts even more that he can’t just slink away and lick his wounds. It hurts that Jiho’s standing right in front of him, making _promises_ , still, even when they’ve gotten here. 

“You _had_ to,” Kyung echoes in disbelief, taking another step back until there’s a sizeable gap between them. He doesn’t know what he wants to do more: grip the front of Jiho’s jacket to kiss him— _hard_ —and ask him to prove it (like Kyung so desperately wants him to, but this isn’t the time nor place) or if he wants to sock one right in his face, just to see the wound he’d help bandage split wide open again. It’s the flash of the car behind theirs that makes the decision for him, it’s the knowledge that, yeah, Jiho had been lying about everything he’d ever said, but this situation they were in? The bodies Kyung’d seen pile up? “That’s what you’ve said about everything, you know. That they forced you into it. That you’re just a—a helpless bystander— and I… god, why the hell did you keep letting me believe that?”

//

“Because it’s fucking true!” Jiho roars, letting his anger flow through him, clenching his fists and twisting his mouth into a snarl.

By God they’re putting on a show, but it’s what he asked for and – the worst part, perhaps – it’s what he fucking _deserves_. Every word that Kyung speaks slices him up, cutting ribbons in his skin, and he relishes the pain, as much as it hurts. 

“You want the fucking lies, Kyung?” he spits, taking a step closer, aware that the people in the car have stepped out, now – he can hear footsteps on gravel. “Fine. I’ll fucking lie to you. I never liked you. You were an easy fuck, and you fell for my lines hook, line and sinker, because I was exciting and you’ve never had anything like me in your life before.” He’s aware tears are pooling in his eyes now, but he can’t stop, wants to lash out and make Kyung hurt as much as he is. “Stringing you along was so fucking easy, because you always came back for more.” He takes a ragged breath. “Are these the lies you want, huh? Are these fucking better?”

//

Jiho’s words vindicate him and sets him free from the limbo of knowing/not knowing, in a place where he didn’t know how much of what Jiho’d been saying had been true, of having to second-guess everything he said, even as sincere and honest as he’d made it out to be. This? This came with a flare of anger so bright, Kyung’s almost blinded from how brilliant he looks, angry, and Jiho’s raw anger winds Kyung’s feelings up like a tightly wound spring.

And then he surges forward and lands a fist to Jiho’s face, gasping back when he’s done. He’s not crying any more, no. His eyes are surprisingly dry, though his face is still wet, but he rectifies them soon enough when he swipes his face roughly with his throbbing hand, stepping back in case Jiho reared up for more. He’d seen what Jiho could do with the butt of his gun, and he had no doubt that he didn’t want the same treatment. 

“At least it’s the truth, right?” Kyung says laughingly, inhaling sharply. He’s sure they look like one hell of a mess to the bystanders now, trying to look like they’re not actively watching as they walk past. “For the first time in your miserable life, how does it feel?” The bandage on Jiho’s cheek blooms in re, causing Kyung to take another step backwards, pocketing his hand in his jeans because it _hurts_ , but the pain centers him, reminds him what he’s dealing with. And it’s this that finally allows him to spit out, “Fuck off.”

//

Jiho staggers backwards, less at the actual blow of Kyung’s punch (it was untrained and sloppy and had barely hurt him) and more at the fact that he actually _did_ it, he actually _hit_ Jiho, and he’d felt the weight of hatred behind his fist, and it shocks him so deeply he feels like he’s suffocating. He reaches up to touch his cheek and feels the wound that Kyung had bandaged has reopened and is streaming blood down his cheek; he revels in this, in the physical reminder of the violence.

“If I fuck off,” he warns, “you’ll never fucking see me again. You’ll be on your goddamned own.” 

God, that hurt to say, even if he’s not entirely sure he means it; Kyung is exhilarating and addicting even when his face is twisted into a comic parody of itself. The fact that he hasn’t been shot in the back is testament to how well they’re doing – even if this surpassed acting long ago, drifted into dangerously volatile and decidedly _real_ territory.

//

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kyung replies, balancing out Jiho’s threatening tone with his own cold, dismissive ones. He can’t recall another time he’d ever been like this, but then being with Jiho is full of surprises, and this is the least of them all. His eyes are glued to the blood dripping down the side of Jiho’s face—it’s a reminder that the person he’d seen in the apartment just now is one and the same as the person he’d held hands with at the aquarium this afternoon, and at the core of him, no matter how cocooned in lies, was a real human being.

 _Just like everyone else lying with their eyes dead open in his apartment_ , Kyung reminds himself as he clenches his fist, fingers digging into his palm as he takes another step away, and then another step away. He’s not even looking out for their audience, anymore. This is Jiho he’s leaving behind, the Jiho that he _knows_ isn’t real, that has been made up equally by the stranger in front of him and by Kyung himself, when it comes down to it. So he waits until the very last moment to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll live,” before spinning around to walk away rapidly without a second glance back, trying to keep his fresh wave of tears in control.

//

Jiho’s legs simply give way underneath him as he watches Kyung walk away without a second glance, leaving him collapsed on the gravel as the car behind him peels out of the parking lot. He’s succeeded, he knows that much. But at what cost?

He doesn’t know how long he kneels there next to his car, alone and crying quietly to himself, letting out everything he’s been keeping inside since the first moment he met Kyung, all the lies that he could never tell that are now laid bare, written on his skin, as much a part of him as his tattoos. It stings so much, like he’s been flayed – the blood dripping down his face and onto the ground just adding to the illusion. There’s a sweet sense of relief there – Kyung knows, now, he knows the entire truth – but it’s mostly masked by the pain that rips through him, eventually leaving him completely numb, chafed and raw.

After a while, he manages to get up and stagger into the car to drive away, staring at the dorm through his mirror the entire time until it’s out of sight completely, leaving him drifting and alone. He can’t even find the pleasure he normally gets out of driving; his movements are entirely robotic and emotionless as he makes turns, moving on autopilot.

As he parks and gets out of the car, popping the boot and slinging off his jacket – had he really sat in church just this morning, with this same jacket on? – and reaching for his holster, he straps his gun close to his chest and heads towards the bar, nodding to the huge man guarding the entrance.

“Z!” he says, surprised. “Haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

Jiho nods and attempts a smile, but it must look as fake as he feels because the other man frowns. “Yeah. Been busy. Are there any fights on tonight?” He juts his thumb inside, making it clear what he’s here for.

“A few,” the man replies, nodding for him to go in, which he does.

This place is still as shitty as it was when he was fighting here on the regular, three years ago. The only thing that’s changed is the pictures on the walls. He nods to the bartender and heads through a door at the back, noticing eyes on him as he goes, feels jolts of recognition. Yes, he used to be quite famous here, back in another lifetime – as it is, he’s still got a reputation. 

It doesn’t take long for him to sign up for the next fight, writing his name down as _Z_ like he always does. He’s starting to realise that there’s many parts of him – Z the fighter, Jiho the boyfriend, Woo Jiho the contract killer – and that none of them are as clear-cut as he’d thought they were before Kyung’d come into his life. In fact, as he strips himself of his shirt and boots and gun and steps into the ring, touching fists with his opponent (a small, wiry, non-descript man with a few missing teeth and prison tattoos all up and down his arms), he’s never felt more lost, not even when this place was his home-away-from-home and fighting was all he knew.

//

“He dumped you, didn’t he?” is the first thing Jaehyo says when Kyung steps into their room, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion that has nothing to do with the punch, and everything with the fact that Kyung’d spent these past weeks spinning himself a pretty lie to live in. He can’t even muster the energy to reply to Jaehyo and only toes off his shoes before collapsing into bed, the tears coming hot and fast now that he’s surrounded with familiarity.

He’d prided himself on being able to read people well, on being able to play the game well enough. Winning wasn't really necessary, but he hoped to at least complete it with at least one life in reserve. He’s wrong, though, and he’s wrong on every count.

“Holy shit,” he hears Jaehyo say from above him, but he presses his face even deeper into his pillow. At least this, _this_ is still uniquely Kyung, and he’s grateful that enough time had elapsed between now and the last time Jiho had been here, that he’d washed his sheets some time in the past week at Jaehyo’s urging, that this space is completely devoid of Jiho and so that Kyung can keep all of him tightly enclosed in a box and shoved to the back of his head.

It’s a little easier to be distracted once Ahn Jaehyo tries to squeeze into the same bed with him, long arm winding around Kyung’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. It’s what they’ve done since they were children, with an intermission through teenagehood, and then resuming through Kyung’s previous break-up. His eyes are wide and filled with concern and Kyung knows what he wants to ask, but he isn’t ready to spin another web of lies yet.

Kyung doesn’t know how long he ends up sobbing into Jaehyo’s shoulder, but he knows that at some point, the tears stop coming and all the hurt he’s felt solidifies into numbness that has him falling into a fitful sleep, uncomfortable in his Sunday’s best, still. He wakes up a little later, sits straight up in his bed at the thought that there’s an invisible threat lurking unseen by the door, and he almost glances down with the expectation of seeing Jiho empty yet another magazine into someone else’s head. But all he gets is Ahn Jaehyo—god, Kyung’s never been more glad and terrified to see him—blearily blinking awake, asking Kyung if everything’s alright.

Kyung’s tempted to laugh then, the same derisive laughter he’d been using as a balm all along, but it’s _Jaehyo_ and with him, there’s no need for Kyung to pretend. So he shakes his head and gives Jaehyo a little shove and tells him to return to his own bed so Kyung has room to toss and turn. 

Sleep eludes him for the rest of that night; he’s better at pretending he’s asleep when Jaehyo tries to wake him up than he is at actually sleeping. He spends the rest of that day staring at his phone’s wallpaper—and if he’s being honest, waiting for _something_ , a call, a text, to come in—before eventually changing it back to a default one. _that’s not real_ , he tells himself. They’re done and over with because Kyung’s sitting here in his dorm room, skipping lectures, while Jiho is out of reach in an organization Kyung can’t even begin to fathom. It’s evident that he can hold his own just fine, anyway, evident that any threat that comes knocking at his door will just swiftly be eliminated.

He can tell Jaehyo’s worried about him, though, and by the following Thursday, he’s organized one of his silly _let’s cheer Kyung up!!!_ attempts that came complementary with an introduction to one of Jaehyo’s newly single friends. Kyung doesn’t have the heart nor the capacity to tell him that isn’t it, but he follows anyway, let them push him into singing a song and cheering a little too-loudly in the darkness of his room. For a few moments, Kyung can pretend and forget that he’s never met a man named Woo Jiho, that he’d spent the last few weeks in a feverish haze in the library.

That lasts until he pops into the men’s room and notices the men dressed in black lurking by the corridor, eyes tracking him as he passes them quietly, quickly, slipping back into the room and into the sounds of Lee Taeil trying out his rendition of a rock song. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Yukwon tells him, raising his eyebrows as he puts an arm around Kyung gently. “Everything alright?”

He thinks about the same men that’d come rounding around the corridor at Jiho’s building again, about how Jiho’d put a bullet right through their eyes, and he has to forcibly fight the urge to throw up, not wanting to run through the corridor for the men’s room again. 

“Yeah,” he eventually says, offering Yukwon a watery smile, “Taeil’s just shit at covering this song.” 

But the same happens again and again and again over the next few days, when he forces himself to attend class and to go for lunches or dinners and to generally behave like a human being functioning with a beating heart instead of whatever the hell Kyung’s now operating on. He’d turn and find another non-descript man dressed in black, another threat lurking in the corner. It’s possible that he’s going fucking crazy, but it’s also possible that Jiho’s right. That once he’s left, Kyung would be left alone with no defense. And it’s not him that he’s worried about, it’s Jaehyo, who glances over Kyung’s shoulder whenever Kyung does and shoots him a look of concern that has Kyung’s stomach flipping, it’s for his brother, who tells him he looks like shit, but then reigns him in for a hug that allows Kyung to spot the man hanging out by the carpark next to their church. Jiho may have operated alone, but Kyung has people he cares for and he _needs_ to know he’s not going crazy. 

It’s 11pm in the middle of a Wednesday when he pulls up Jiho’s contact for the first time in over two weeks. It’s 11.30pm by the time he sends out his messages: _It’s me_ and _I think you’re right_.

//

The first thing Jiho does when he wakes the next day – more like the day after tomorrow, actually, considering he sleeps for something close to thirty-six hours – is head down to the hair salon he frequents, all the other way on the other side of the city, and sits himself down in a chair.

“Jiho,” the ahjumma tuts, running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve let your roots get too long. Look at you.”

He looks like shit – pale and sunken, with a black eye and the cut on his cheek still raw – but he’s been going here for so long she’s long stopped asking questions. “Just… dye it black,” he blurts, staring at her through the mirror. “But leave it long.”

She smirks and tugs a strand of his hair gently. “Breakup, huh?” He opens his mouth to protest, but she winks at him and bustles away to get the dye. “You’re too easy to read,” she calls over her shoulder, and he sinks down in the chair miserably.

When he leaves, his hair is as black as pitch and blow dried into waves that fall around his face – she’d insisted. It’s not like he has anyone to be pretty for (and, in fact, he has a job tonight) but it still makes him feel a little better anyway, like he’s not the scum of the earth, like he hasn’t ruined Kyung's life, like he hasn’t fucked up the one good thing he had.

After he finishes with his job that night, he goes to a club that he’s been to a few times before and ends up leaving, high out of his mind on three different types of narcotics that he’d taken without hesitation, with his arm around some bulky guy who’s got a shaved head and is taller than him and who is the exact _opposite_ of Park Kyung. What’s that phrase? Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else? He repeats that to himself like a mantra the next week as he fucks his way through half of Seoul’s population, spending the rest of the time in bed doing lines and drawing the most fucked up shit he can think of (although it usually ends up just being different views of Kyung’s face) and waiting for a job…

...Waiting for a job that never comes, which means he finds himself deviating back to the fighting ring, the bloodlust itching under his skin becoming painful at times. He doesn’t know why they haven’t contacted him, doesn’t know if it’s because of Kyung or some other reason, but it’s all quiet on the western front and he doesn’t like it because it doesn’t feel _right_. It’s all he can do to stay sane by staying high or drunk most of the time, and sleeping the rest of the time, because his life has gone to shit and the one constant he had – his job – has apparently gone with it.

It’s how he finds himself, ten days later at 3 am, flipping through his phone while he lies on his stomach on his bed, bored to tears and with a distinct lack of drugs to keep him entertained (except for the bottle of vodka he’s currently going through). There’s no one to text – the only two numbers he has are the mysterious Organisation number and Kyung’s, and both are as silent as the grave – so he’s just about to throw it off the balcony for something to do when it buzzes in his hand, an unknown number trying to contact him.

 _Breakups are nasty, aren’t they?_ It reads. He stares at it stupidly, taking another swig of the vodka, wondering if perhaps this is a hallucination left over from the tab he’d done last night. But no, there’s another, hot on the heels of the first – _you look good with black hair._  

 _Who the fuck…?_ He manages to reply (although it’s more like _hwo te h fyck ?  ?...)_ and receives one letter in return: _M._

_I’m outside your apartment, by the way._

_Mithfckuer,_ he replies, getting to his feet and heading through the lounge room, still clutching the vodka (he can’t walk through here without thinking of the five bodies littered around, without thinking of _Ky –_ no, he’s embargoed thinking of that name). _Hwo did u knwo where i leive./??_

 _Connections_ , M replies.

Jiho manages to open the door – with difficulty, though, because everything’s swimming now – to see that indeed M is standing there, smirking, dressed in his regular black outfit, the holster of his gun peeking out from underneath his armpit. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” M asks, straightening up and slipping his phone back in his pocket, smiling jovially like this is a visit between old friends – not two contract killers, one drunk and one looking for a fuck.

“Sure,” Jiho slurs, opening the door wide and leaning on it as M steps in – but Jiho’s not too drunk to trust him completely so he pulls out his knife from where it was stashed in the waistband of his pyjama pants and holds it up to M’s throat, walking him backwards so he’s pressed up against the wall behind the door. “But what the fuck do you want?” 

M’s hand runs up his back, up over his shoulders, to curl in his hair and pull Jiho in for a kiss, either not caring about or ignoring the knife pressed to his throat. M kisses so differently to – to the other man – that it’s easy for Jiho to lose himself and push himself closer, dropping the vodka bottle so it shatters on the floor.

“Oops,” he giggles, leaning on M heavily, letting the knife fall to his side. “I still don’t know why you’re here.”

“You’re not the only one with a job shortage, you know,” M mutters, yanking Jiho’s head up to pull him close, so Jiho can see his pupils dilate. “I’m _bored_ , and you are perpetually interesting. Especially since I’d heard about… What’s his name? Ky–”

He’s cut off by Jiho pressing the knife into his throat again. “Don’t fucking say his name.”

M shrugs, his palms up in a placating gesture like Jiho is a wild animal. “Alright. My point still stands. No one’s getting jobs lately, and I’d heard about what happened. I was curious, is all.” 

“Whatever,” Jiho mutters, turning away and stepping on the broken glass, tracking blood and vodka all over his floor as he heads to the bedroom. “Fuck are you waiting for?” 

As it turns out, they don’t even make it to the bedroom, because M grabs him by the wrist and pulls him down onto the floor where they fuck right there like animals, primal and violent and rough. Jiho’s pretty sure M draws blood, but it’s fine because he draws it right back, and this is so fucking different to – to _him_ – that he can allow himself this small luxury of pleasure and pain, losing himself in the feel of M, all hard lines and angles. 

When he wakes the next morning, naked and bleeding on the floor with shattered glass everywhere, he remember what M said and wonders, as much as he _can_ wonder through a headache the size of Madagascar. If no one’s getting jobs, then it’s not a Ky – it’s not a Jiho thing, it’s an Organisation thing, and it means one less thing to worry about, one less reason to care about anything at all. 

He’s on his balcony when his phone vibrates, two weeks after _it_ happened. At first he thinks it’s M again, because his phone has been conspicuously silent since they fucked, but he looks down at the screen and blinks. Time seems to stop, the moon hanging heavy in the air as he reads the words over and over again like he’s not entirely sure they’re there. All the feelings that he’s pushed down in the last two weeks return at once, making him gasp and collapse right there on his balcony, clutching a hand to his stomach as he tries desperately to breathe. _Fuck._  

 _They’re watching you,_ he shoots back so fast his hands shake. _I’m not sure why, ‘cause they’re sure as fuck not watching me._

He wants to say _how are you?_ and _I miss you_ and _I hate myself for what I did, btw_ and I _would kill anyone to get you back_ but – well, things have changed, haven’t they? Kyung hates him, he knows that much (and can he blamed for that?). He’s still not entirely sure why he’s being texted, because Kyung should know that they’ve probably tapped his phone. He doesn’t even know why the Organisation is spending so much time watching him instead of giving their agents _jobs_ , considering Kyung is not important in the grand scheme of things. 

He curls into a ball right there on his balcony, shivering, clutching his phone desperately as he lets all the feelings he’d locked away pour into him, painful and obnoxious.


	9. Chapter 9

The reply comes so quickly, Kyung can’t help but wonder if Jiho’d been sitting by his phone this whole time. It’s easy to let his imagination run wild from there, to let him think about what he hadn’t allowed himself to remotely even consider in the past two weeks. The man you lov—the man you thought existed doesn’t, so isn’t it silly to speculate about what he’s doing, to think about the cut on his cheek, about the  _ corpses in his apartment _ , about the way he’d folded up into himself on that bathroom floor, looking smaller than ever. Even as the sound of Jiho’s voice become intermingled with Kyung’s nightmares that’d only amped up with the appearance of Jiho’s people, forcing him awake at ungodly hours with his heart in his throat, and the residual warmth of someone who isn’t there—would  _ never _ be there—it’s not these things that Kyung should focus on. 

So he bites down on the inside of his cheek and forces himself to stop re-reading Jiho’s two lines of messages, both curt and clinical. He ends up writing and re-writing his reply several more times—the first few times, he’d started explaining what he’d seen, and then to compensate, the next few replies he wrote were too short, too curt, too upset with someone whom Kyung potentially needed to  _ live _ . (It’s not just that either, of course, it’s Kyung wanting more than Jiho’s explanation, wanting to confirm that whatever he’d felt wasn’t just him, projecting. Because that, on top of everything, hurt the most, leaves Kyung feeling breathless with his own stupid assumptions, like a live wire that’d suddenly been snapped into half.) 

He’s scared shitless, but he refuses to admit that, too, if only because he doesn’t know if Jiho would give a fuck or not, if only because he  _ knows _ that Jiho’s probably preoccupied with other, more pressing issues. Like figuring out who’s trying to kill him. And if Kyung could go to the cops without becoming accessory to murder—without accidentally getting shot in the godamn head—he would. As it is, all he can do is text back an unsure,  _ what do I do? _ hating the fact that this is the only route he can take.

//

The worst part? Jiho doesn’t  _ know _ , he doesn’t fucking know how to help Kyung because he can’t even help himself. The Organisation has always been a giant question mark in his life and it’s sure not revealing himself now, when he hasn’t heard from them in nearly two weeks and yet realises they’re stalking his boyfriend.  _ Ex- _ boyfriend, he reminds himself as he shivers and trembles on the cold tile of the balcony, memories assaulting him like weapons. Except weapons he can fend off; these? These are insidious and pervasive, coming at him hard and fast, making his phone clatter to the floor as he closes his eyes in the face of them. Kyung, sitting on top of him in the moonlight on his roof, breathing  _ what the fuck are you? _ ; the look on Kyung’s face as he spilled out of the church and saw Jiho having a breakdown right then and there; the way he arched his head back as he came, breathing Jiho’s name –

He gets up and staggers inside, shaking so hard he can barely walk, just remembering to bring his phone with him as he heads to the weapons room where he collapses onto a chair there, breathing hard. He’s so fucking lost, he doesn’t even know what’s going on with his life anymore, and he can’t bring it in himself to care. 

_ I don’t know what to do either _ , he types but then erases it.

_ You have unarmed me _ . He erases that one too.

_ Continue your life as normal and pretend you never met me _ . This one physically hurts to type so he deletes it as well.

_ Let me help, _ he eventually types slowly, pressing send.  _ There’s some serious shit going down with the Organisation at the moment. I’ve heard whispers. _

//

Kyung presses his cheek to his desk and stares at the message: Let me help. The emotions warring in his chest tell Kyung he’s being stupid, that he should look for someone else (the CIA? the FBI? one of those branches of governmental organizations, anyway) that hadn’t dragged him heart-first into this mess. If he waits it out, maybe they’ll realize that he has nothing to do with the Organization, whatever the hell that is, and leave him the fuck alone. 

But at the core of his intentions, he realizes he wants to see Jiho, wants to know if Jiho is doing just fine. And it’s this that makes him flip his phone over on his face to groan into his desk. It’s funny—who else gets to deal with the duality of a heartbreak and of being stalked by a ghost of an organization that had no qualms about killing people? 

He turns the phone back up to face him again, eyes boring on those three words and when he closes his eyes, he can see Jiho’s face framed in gold, framed in blue light, framed in darkness, his hand on Kyung’s face, his hand on Kyung’s back, his hand in Kyung’s, asking, always asking, “Are you okay?” 

The tears come hot at the corner of his eyes, so Kyung gulps and sits up, takes a bracing breath before he types out  _ How? _ and deletes the  _ They almost got you too _ and adds a short  _ Would it help if I went away? _

//

_ No _ , he replies instantly, fingers shaking.  _ They’ll follow you. _

Because they will. If they’re following Kyung, making sure he’s not in contact with Jiho – well, one thing he  _ does  _ know about the Organisation is it is pretty fucking persistent. The puzzle pieces are beginning to click together in his mind, all the details he’d shoved away and ignored coming to light in the wake of his pain. He has no doubt, now, that those men in his apartment two weeks ago were Organisation men, sent to kill one or both of them, or, optimally, break them up. They’d warned him when he first joined that they didn’t look kindly on relationships with ‘outsiders’ (hence why his and M’s romps went unpunished)... But he didn’t realise they’d take it this far.

...Which is probably why they’re following Kyung. They know he knows about them, and as long as he knows his life is in danger, regardless of whether he’s talking to Jiho or not. There’s something big going down with the Organisation, he can  _ feel _ it, this is bigger than just the two of them. It’s this that has him reaching for his phone again, breathing shakily – Kyung needs Jiho’s help.

_ I need you to call me from a payphone,  _ he begins shakily, getting up and heading to the kitchen slowly.  _ What I’m going to say can’t be seen by anyone’s eyes. _ In the kitchen, he opens the cutlery drawer and lifts out the tray of knives, forks, spoons and chopsticks, and then the false bottom underneath it – this is his secret stash, one he hasn’t had cause to dig through for a while. He takes out the passports, the wads of cash, the fake driver’s licenses and finds –  _ yes! _ He knew he’d stashed one in here – an old Nokia brick phone, completely separate from the phones the Organisation gives him. He’s had this for donkey’s years, and when he pulls it out and switches it on he’s delighted to see it still works. _ Here’s the number,  _ he texts to Kyung, taking both phones back to the (new) lounge and stretching across it, waiting.

//

Kyung didn’t know what he was expecting when he’d called up Jiho. A deus ex machina of some sort, hopefully, where Kyung’s life could slowly start resembling what it was before that day at the laundromat. If not that, then practical advice that Kyung himself could’ve thought of—because who is he kidding? his intention to reach out to Jiho hadn’t been 100% pure—like  _ just lay low and shut up _ . That would’ve been ideal, objectively.

But now, Jiho wants Kyung to call him. He can’t resist typing out the sarcastic  _ what century do you think I live in? _ but deletes that, then adds a  _ do you think this is a Bond movie? _ but then deletes that too. This isn’t the Jiho he can joke around with, he reminds himself, this isn’t even a Jiho you know. The thought steels his nerves, somewhat, reminds him of the severity of the situation he’s in. It’s not like one of those times where Kyung gets dumped (and technically, he did the dumping here) and he ends up drunk texting the object of his affection, thus working his way into a certain amount of regret.

He doesn’t bother texting Jiho back, merely grabs some loose change from Jaehyo’s desk—thank god  _ he _ isn’t back yet, or Kyung would’ve to do a lot of explaining—and his coat and a random textbook and his binder. He needed to look like he was going somewhere, not making an illicit phone call to someone his invisible audience explicitly did  _ not _ want him to. The feeling of being watched settles over his skin the moment he exits his building and treks down the dimly lit pathway up to the library. The phone booths were parked outside, an assembly of barely used machinery from another time. He picks the one right smack in the middle, slips into the booth and with trembling hands, dials up Jiho’s number.

When the line clicks, Kyung quickly rushes into his question, not wanting to sit around and wait for small talk. He’s shed enough tears for Woo Jiho, an embarrassing amount of tears, actually, considering the fact that he’d hardly cried the last time he broke up with his girlfriend of a year. That’s probably why Jaehyo had been so concerned—Kyung hardly ever lost his cool, not in the ways that mattered.

“It’s me,” he says again, quietly, civilly, a stark contrast from the way his heart is trying to leap out of his chest, “what do you want me to do?”

//

The phone rings on Jiho’s chest, and although he’d been expecting it it still startles him – so much, in fact, that he flails and falls off the lounge and onto the floor, reaching for the phone and picking it up hastily. When Kyung speaks, he has to close his eyes, because just the sound of his  _ voice _ (cold and clinical as it is) is making his insides churn with thousands of unidentifiable feelings. What is it about Park Kyung that just drives him crazy, makes him lose his sense of self completely?

“Ow. Are they watching you right now?” he begins breathlessly, trying to not focus on the words he’s saying and more the fact that he’s speaking to  _ Kyung _ . “Wait, don’t answer that. Of course they are. Okay, I’ve got a theory.”

He waits for Kyung’s reply, but realises he’s not going to get one, so sighs and continues. “Right, okay. They told me when I got into this job that relationships with non-agents are forbidden, but I didn’t realise how seriously they took it. I haven’t had any…” he trails off, not wanting to talk about  _ work _ with Kyung for obvious reasons, but it’s a necessity, so he reluctantly continues. “I haven’t had any jobs for two weeks, and neither have any of the other agents. My theory is this: there’s some serious shit going down with the Organisation internally. Maybe they’re collapsing, maybe they’re getting stung, I don’t know. But right now anyone with knowledge is  _ dangerous _ . I signed a contract with them, so I can’t speak out, but you have no ties to them whatsoever and might dob them in… So they’re watching you.”

Jiho picks himself up from the floor and sits back on the sofa heavily. “If I’m right, your life is in danger whether or not you’re talking to me. They already know you know about them. So…”

He pauses here, because the words he’s about to say tear him apart internally – it seems like such a cheap ploy to get Kyung back into his life; which it is, partially, but it’s mainly out of genuine concern for his life. Kyung’s not going to see it that way, however, and this could backfire, very badly. Jiho digs his fingers into the leather of the sofa, closes his eyes, and commits. “So let me protect you. If they see me with you, maybe they’ll back off.”

//

Kyung isn’t aware he’s gripping tightly onto the receiver until he hears the squeak of the pad of his fingers against the plastic, so he exhales and tries to calm himself, tries to fight against the urge to close his eyes and drown himself in the sound of Jiho’s voice. It’s not until this moment that he realizes how much he’d missed Jiho. Yeah, there’d been tears and he’d spent a fuckton of time consuming copious amounts of junk food but he hadn’t realized just how much it’d  _ ache _ to hear Jiho again.

He doesn’t even catch what Jiho’d said except for his last few lines, the sentences after his heavy pause that has Kyung holding his breath. He’d expected a  _ I can only help you so much _ but instead he gets… this. He gets Jiho offering him protection. He gets Jiho essentially requesting a spot in Kyung’s life again. Kyung will never admit to the relief he feels right then and there, because he’s scared of placing a bet on something that might not even be real in the first place. 

He leans his forehead against the cool glass, eyes staring blankly at the empty phone booth next to his. The one after that one has an occupant who’s currently gesturing wildly in the confined space, looking enraged and agitated. Jiho sounds tremulous, afraid, like something Kyung says might easily rip him in pieces. And maybe it’s precisely that. Maybe he feels guilty for putting Kyung in this situation when all he’d been looking for was someone who was ready to take off his pants at a moment’s notice. Kyung doesn’t  _ know _ . 

“How romantic,” he scoffs instead, after a moment’s silence. He can’t do this. He physically can’t do this. But he twirls the phone cord tightly over his fingers, so tight that his fingers pale into a sharp white, then says, “Okay. Which is it this time? The zoo or to dinner?”

//

Jiho’s first reaction is white-hot, unbridled anger – to snarl ‘fine, enjoy getting killed then’ and then slam down the phone and go drown his rage by beating the ever-living shit out of someone else. Because how  _ dare _ he? Out of all the lies that Jiho had spun, the  _ one _ thing he had never lied about – not once, and nor would he – was the feelings he had for Kyung. No touch, no kiss, no look was a lie: that was truth, and that’s perhaps why it hurts most of all. 

Instead he collapses into himself on the sofa, closing his eyes and wishing he could just  _ die _ , wish this could all just go away. “Kyung,” he rasps, his voice sounding so weak and small that he thinks he’s fading away. “Please.” 

It’s on the verge of begging, but he doesn’t care anymore. Kyung is the only thing that makes him  _ feel _ , and he needs that, he needs to know that he’s still alive somehow, even if he’s just clinging to life by his fingernails.

//

Kyung blanches at how soft Jiho sounds as compared to just moments earlier, when he’d been detailing whatever the hell was going on with the people he worked for.  _ It’s not fair _ , Kyung thinks, it’s not fair that it feels like there’s a molten ball in his chest, restricting him from breathing, it’s not fair that Jiho still has this effect on him, when he doesn’t  _ get _ to have this effect.

“Don’t. You can’t,” Kyung says, sucking in a gasping breath he’s sure can be heard over the phone. It’s a good thing he’d cried himself dry days ago, or he’d be matching the flailing man two booths down with his own breakdown. And what a sight that must be for whoever the hell is watching him right now. Kyung doesn’t want this; all he’d ever asked for was a beautiful stranger with an elusive smile and what he’d gotten in return was a shitfest. 

“I said okay,” Kyung repeats again, the edge of desperation gone from his voice now, thankfully, and its place is impersonality, distance. “What’s your plan?”

//

The coldness in Kyung’s voice kills Jiho, but he knows he deserves it, so he revels in the pain. “I’m not sure,” he replies. “You could go about your life as per usual but with me shadowing you. We could go to a safe house and stay there until this all blows over. We could lay low. Whatever inconveniences you the least.”

Jiho knows that he’s inconvenienced Kyung enough, and that if he could turn back the hands of time he would erase himself from Kyung’s life entirely. But he can’t because he’s not God so he has to live with the consequences – whatever they may be, however painful they may be;  Kyung is killing him slowly right now with his indifference but this is his punishment, so mote it be. 

//

Kyung drags a hand down the side of his face, trying to find that same coolness he’d had when he stepped into the booth. Or an outward semblance of something like coolness, anyway, because Jiho sounds sincerely like he knows he’d fucked up. It’s this Jiho—quiet and earnest and offering him a plethora of choices all for  _ Kyung _ —warring with the Jiho of yesterday, who’d shouted at Kyung and who’d looked smug as he ended someone’s life.

_ I don’t know _ , he wants to say, but that’s not an answer to Jiho’s question, and it’s not an answer that would be constructive to his situation at hand. In a way, if Kyung hadn’t stared at Jiho at the laundromat, hadn’t actively pursued him, then Jiho wouldn’t be in this situation either, right? 

“I don’t want them here,” Kyung says slowly, at first, then with a rising sense of despair, “it’s… I’m with Jaehyo all the time. They were at  _ church _ .” This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to text Jiho—a sob story, a story that was of no help to their situation at hand, but it all comes spilling helplessly out of him. “I just— if it’s only me, that’s one thing. But they can’t… I don’t want them near any of my friends or family, Jiho.”

//

He wants to say ‘I understand’ but that will seem superfluous, because he has no friends or family to speak of and as such doesn’t know what it feels like. So he nods into the apartment even though he knows Kyung can’t see it, and hauls himself off the sofa. “I see. Well, I have a few safe houses in various cities. Do you want to get away from Seoul for a bit? At least until whatever shit that’s going down with the Organisation is over?”

The thought of him and Kyung being alone together has him shaking all over again, both with the possibilities and the fear. Kyung  _ despises _ him, he knows that much – what if he decides to smother Jiho in his sleep? It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it, but still… His mind races, wondering which safe house they’ll go to – Busan? Or even the more remote one, out in the countryside? What weapons will he have to bring? He feels like he’s preparing for the apocalypse, which he is, he supposes – seeing Kyung again may well kill them both.

//

Jiho’s  _ still _ offering him choices like they’re about to choose a getaway trip. Is this fine? Is that fine? He doesn’t know how to articulate that it doesn’t fucking matter, that he’d called Jiho up to take the responsibility out of his hands. (And that alone speaks volumes about how much he trusts Woo Jiho, but Kyung absolutely does  _ not _ want to think about that.)

“You sound like a travel agent,” Kyung can’t help but say, biting his lip right after. It’s easier like that, easier to joke around and pretend that his life’s slipping out of control.  _ Had _ already slipped out of control, from the moment he’d walked into that changing room with Jiho, but that was a different kind of spiralling. It’s the kind that he’d gladly thrown himself into, and now he doesn’t know how to make it stop. “You’re the one who works for them. Where would they look? What would get them to stop looking?” 

He has to think about how to hold himself accountable too, how to tell Jaehyo goodbye without saying goodbye. It’s easier for his family—he could just lie and say he’s going on an exchange program. God, then he’d have to derail his graduation and… Kyung exhales into the receiver, dragging a hand through his hair. If this were another universe, perhaps he’d meet Woo Jiho, the art student, and they’d have dates on the campus where mysterious men didn’t turn up and make him lose his shit. Maybe after a time Kyung would move into his apartment, and his things would be littered amongst Jiho’s. Maybe after a time, they’d find a new place together, start a life together. But he knows this isn’t the right one. This will never be the right one.

//

“Probably the countryside…” Jiho mutters under his breath as he heads into his weapon room, grabbing a duffel bag and slinging it onto the desk. “That’s probably our best bet. But I don’t know, Kyung, I haven’t exactly done this before.”

He starts throwing things into the bag – just the randomest shit he can get his hands on, without even thinking about what he’s doing. He runs to the bedroom and scoops clothes off hangers, piling them in his arms. “Er, when do you want to do this? The sooner the better, but I guess you have to sort out your family and stuff first.” 

Jiho realises, a bit belatedly as he’s shoving the clothes in the bag waiting for Kyung’s reply, that he’s grabbed the fugly shirt that Kyung had bought for him – the chest hair one. He blanches, and nearly drops the phone from where it’s tucked between his ear and shoulder, his hands shaking as he stares at it.

//

It’s with immense self-control that Kyung doesn’t laugh at Jiho’s next words.  _ I haven’t done this before _ . Of course not, of course he hasn’t, because he’d just kill his way out of it. It’s the type of laughter that’s more hysterical than genuinely funny or condescending, anyway. It’s the kind of laughter that Kyung finds himself getting increasingly acquainted to. There’s no time to digress—he has things to do, plans to make, and his own damn life to save. And then, there’s Jiho.

“It’s fine, I can settle that overnight. They’re not going away after two weeks, and I’m scared they migh— yeah, I can settle things overnight,” Kyung says, finding respite in having something to do now. Clothes, excuses, phone calls; is this what it’s like to be Jiho? To constantly walk a line of lies and make sure you stay on point so you don’t go toppling over? How can he stand it? “Where should we meet?”

There’s a silence, then, Jiho’s quiet, but he’s still there; Kyung can hear him breathing softly but quickly. “Jiho?” he calls out, letting all the repressed concern and worry he’d had bleed through his voice for the first time. God knows what the hell could’ve happened next; there could be yet another attempt at his life occurring right this moment, and Kyung wouldn’t even be able to do anything to help.

//

“Yeah, yeah,” Jiho replies quickly, his heart lifting at the undisguised concern in Kyung’s voice. “I just – yeah.”

There’s no point explaining – no way to say  _ I found our shirt and it made me feel so sad I nearly threw up _ in a way that’s acceptable, because Kyung won’t care anyway. It’s stupid, but he holds the fabric of the shirt to his face and inhales, like he can breathe in the past, transport himself back there, back when it was – when it was different and  _ good _ and what they had was innocent and easy, even when Jiho carried the secrets around like a ball and chain on his ankle. 

He drops the shirt on the floor and kicks it under the desk so it’s out of his sight and sighs shakily. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning? Around nine-thirty or so? I don’t know how long we’re going for, probably not more than a week, so you don’t need to pack too much, just essentials, I can pick up anything you need –” he realises he’s babbling, and stops himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He hates the way his words curl up at the end, like he’s hopeful – which he is, in a way. Even under these horrible circumstances, even when they’re literally about to run for their lives, he’s going to get to see Kyung again, and the thought of that has his heart soaring. He’s a complete sucker for Park Kyung, and he’ll take anything he can get, even if what he gets are scraps handed to him sparingly, like the concern in Kyung’s voice – he eats them up.

//

If Kyung lets himself believe it—and he’s really been doing well in practicing the art of lying to himself—then he can pretend that this is just a trip. Him and Jiho and no one else but the quiet of the countryside, the chance to see Jiho laugh as they bathe in sunlight, to see all of Jiho’s tattoos out on display, to ask about every and each one of them, and Kyung can kiss— 

No. He stops himself there, biting down so hard on his lip he almost draws blood. There’s speculation, and then there’s straight out delusion, and Kyung doesn’t want to accidentally tip over the line. 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Kyung echoes, a little uselessly. He hesitates as long as he can before Jiho can assume that the line’d cut off, and then blurts out in a hurried rush, “Don’t die before I see you,” and quickly hangs up the phone. Kyung’s not stupid—for all the bitterness he wants to hold onto, for all the misery he wants to crumple up into a ball and toss back at Jiho like some kind of vengeful curveball, he knows that Jiho  _ cares _ . What the hell for, he doesn’t get, but he  _ cares _ and that’s enough for Kyung to let himself loose a little. It’d be easy enough for him to cut Kyung off and leave him to flounder, but as it is, he’d responded when Kyung’d asked for help even when he’d told Kyung he’d be on his own. 

It’s with this sense of anticipation that he walks up to the library and deposits his book into the slot before returning to his building, trying to keep his eyes on the path instead of around him. He didn’t want to look too nervous, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he pretends to check his phone and puts on some music on his walk back. For the first time in two weeks, he feels like he can breathe again.

//

Jiho just stares at the brick phone in his hand for the longest time, slumped there on the desk in his weapon room, the tools of death and destruction all around him. He has entirely no idea where to go from here, except go through the motions of preparing, both for the trip and for the reality of seeing Kyung again. Although, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know if he’s ready to see Kyung once more. Even the thought of it has him clenching his fists so hard he nearly cracks the case of the phone.

He stands up abruptly and starts throwing things in the duffel bag again, his mind racing with all the things he’ll need: food (although the safe house does have some), his fake IDs, keys for the car that’s on the way (it’s standard practice to change cars once or twice when one is on the run like this – he’s had a car stashed on the way to the safe house for a year or so now), clothes. He doesn’t even have that much time to prepare, so he whirls and heads into the kitchen, busying himself with preparing instead of thinking about Kyung, because if he does he’ll fall apart. 

//

Jaehyo grunts at him the moment he steps through the door, mouth full with some kind of food that Kyung can’t even distinguish. He’s too nervous to distinguish anyway. Never in his life had he ever lied to Ahn Jaehyo, and now that he literally has to lie to save his life, he can’t do it. So he decides to take the cowardly way out: he tells Jaehyo he’s fine today, works in just the slightest hint of shakiness so Jaehyo will assume he’s lying, he turns into bed early, waits until Jaehyo goes to sleep too, then steals around the room to pack his things. He waits until it’s nearly morning before he scribbles out a note, not wanting to over-explain or make Jaehyo worry.

_ Remember when you were obsessed with Eat, Pray, Love and I laughed at you? _ , he scrawls, quickly, messily,  _ I guess I was wrong and she’s right. I need a break, don’t worry about me _ . It’s probably not the best idea to put down a timeframe lest Jaehyo calls the cops on him, and the last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself. On the back side of the note, Kyung gives Jaehyo instructions on how to fend his parents off (last minute slot on an exchange programme he’s been talking about, and he sends off a text just to bolster that) and to text his coursemates for his coursework, just to give Jaehyo the assurance that he hadn’t gone batshit crazy.

Or maybe he is. It certainly feels like he is, as he shoulders his backpack and gives one last backward glance to Jaehyo and his uncomfortable sleeping position. And then he’s off, boots noisily pattering down all five flights of stairs. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to meet Jiho, realizes they didn’t quite agree on a specific place, so he ends up doing a round of the building nervously. It’s okay, it’s gonna be fine. It’s just Jiho. It’s just  _ Jiho _ . God, Kyung’s going to be sick by the grass patch and  _ then _ he’s going to lose his last shred of dignity. 

As it turns out, he didn’t have to wait for that to happen, because by the the time he reaches the entrance again, someone approaches him. Someone dressed in black, with his hand in his pocket, strolling up to him at 7am in the godamn morning like it’s no big deal to be all decked out in leather.

“Can I help you?” Kyung asks, trying to make his voice sound as civil as possible.

“As it turns out,” he says, “you can.” When he grins, Kyung thinks of Jiho, thinks of how Jiho’d smiled at him as they were walking up to his apartment the night of the killings, thinks about how easily Kyung’d fallen for that look. And then Kyung thinks of nothing at all.

//

Jiho only gets two hours sleep that night. He tries to get more, honestly he does – but instead he finds himself lying in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking of Kyung and wishing he could vanish. Eventually, after tossing and turning, he takes his sketchbook out onto the balcony and draws all morning until the sun comes up, bathing everything in a soft, pastel pink. For just a few hours, Jiho lets his worries slide off his shoulders and just enjoys the moment: it’s easy to forget what he is, what’s about to happen, when the world is beautiful like this.

By six am, he’s restless and decides there’s no point staying here any longer; he’s finished all his packing and he’s just going to drive himself crazy if he stays. He can just patrol around Kyung’s dorm and make sure there’s no agents around – dispose of them, if need be. He suits up – teaming his usual black outfit with his two favourite knives, another one in his boot and a pistol in a holster underneath his arm – and heads down to the car, slinging the duffel bag in the boot and heading out with a squeal of tyres.

Jiho’s never been this nervous in his  _ life, _ not ever, and it’s entirely debilitating. He finds himself missing turns, nearly crashing into other cars; he’s off his game because of Kyung and he doesn’t like it, not when their lives are in danger like this – he should be sharp and ready. As it is, he’s shaking and nervous as he pulls into the carpark, just the sight of Kyung’s dorm making his heart race and his breath quicken. He hits his head on the headrest repeatedly, to try and shock himself into normalcy: it doesn’t matter that this is  _ Kyung _ , it doesn’t matter that the last time they’d seen each other Kyung had told him to fuck off with as much malice as he could muster, and it doesn’t matter that they’re running away from an Organisation that, Jiho knows, is as huge and omnipresent as it is terrifying. 

Jiho hauls himself out of the car and leans against it, stretching and turning his head to bathe in the weak sunlight. It’s gotten even colder, lately, and he’s glad for his favourite coat that’s as warm as it is practical. He’s just about to get back inside and turn on the radio to try and distract himself when he sees  _ him _ and the world stops spinning, throwing Jiho completely off-balance, making him gasp out loud.

Kyung looks different, somehow; it’s ridiculous, because it’s only been two weeks – but somehow it’s not the time but the distance between them that hurts, that’s reflected in Kyung’s face. He looks less happy, closed off… Although Jiho supposes there are extenuating circumstances. He takes a step forward somewhat helplessly, drifting towards Kyung’s orbit like he always has, staggering on the gravel, opening his mouth to call out to Kyung – and then.

And then a stranger dressed in black approaches Kyung, and Jiho’s heart leaps into his throat because he can spot one of  _ them _ a mile away. He can’t fucking  _ move _ , though, he’s completely frozen, looking like a dolt with his arm outstretched hopefully as the agent he’s never met smiles and then pulls back his fist, punching Kyung square on the jaw.

Jiho watches with wide eyes as Kyung goes out like a light, his head hitting the concrete with a sickening  _ crack _ . It’s that noise – and the blood that he can see beginning to pool underneath Kyung’s head – that springs him into action. Jiho sees red and feels the rage flow through his limbs, taking him over, making him leap forward and draw his knife with a roar that’s more animalistic than human. He’s never killed like this, never motivated by emotions – he’s always calm and collected, even when the bloodlust hits him. This, though? This is an urge that comes from deep inside him, screaming at him to  _ kill _ , to  _ protect _ , to  _ avenge _ . The agent turns with his gun drawn – because they’re always taught to be prepared for a threat that could come from anywhere – but Jiho’s faster, he was always  _ fast, _ and he knifes the man in the throat, watching with wild eyes as he falls to the ground like a stone, gurgling and thrashing around as he bleeds out.

Jiho doesn’t waste another second on him and instead drops to the ground next to Kyung, his hands fluttering over Kyung’s head nervously, hesitantly, still jittery after the kill. He lifts up an eyelid desperately, sees Kyung’s pupil constrict, and breathes a sigh of relief. Kyung’s probably going to have a concussion, but he’s not going to die of a brain hemorrhage and that’s what matters. Still high on adrenaline and every other hormone rushing through his body, making his vision fade to black on the edges, Jiho picks up Kyung easily and cradles him close as he jogs back to his car. His eyes dart about nervously and he  _ knows _ – he knows that he needs to dispose of the body, because this is Kyung’s home and he won’t allow it to be defiled like his was. 

Gently settling Kyung in the passenger seat of the car – checking his pulse, which is still beating strong – he sprints back to the body and starts the process of cleanup, throwing it into the ubiquitous black van that he can’t believe he didn’t notice before and driving said van out of the carpark and around the block so it’s far enough away from  _ them _ that they can’t, won’t be connected. He doesn’t know if this was Organisation sanctioned, or even if he’s under the Organisation’s protection anymore, so he wipes the thing clean and leaves it, wishing he had more  _ time _ , because then he could set the damn thing on fire. 

He sprints the whole way back to the car, knowing that they need to leave and they need to leave  _ now _ , so he peels out of the parking lot, spraying gravel everywhere and leaving nothing behind except a blood stain, his heart leaping into his throat as he drives.

//

Kyung dreams of nothing.

It’s a marked difference from his quality of sleep as of late; he’d been waking up from nightmares he hadn’t had since he was a kid and scared of branches casting shadows onto his bedroom wall. But now—he blinks awake into a still room that he doesn’t recognize, in a bed that doesn’t feel like his, and in sheets that doesn’t smell like his.

And his head—his skull feels like it’s trying to shrink and crush his own brain, which causes him to groan as he blinks and tries to adjust to the orange light filtering in from the closed balcony doors. Holy shit. What the hell kind of night did he have? And where the hell was he? He doesn’t remember drinking, and he certainly doesn’t remember going home with someone else. In fact, if his brain would stop trying to assault itself, he’d remember who he’d agreed to meet. It’s important, that person is important, but he just can’t catch a good grasp on  _ why _ . 

When he turns his head—and god, even  _ that _ hurts, friction of the pillow against his scalp  _ hurts _ ; he’d better have a good explanation for all this pain later—he sees Jiho, fast asleep on a chair with his hair hanging over his face, keeping his features hidden from Kyung. His heart skips a beat, does a little somersault and lands back in its usual place. When did he dye his hair? When did they get here? What the  _ hell _ were they doing here? Did they go for a night of wild drinking and hopped onto a train somewhere else? Had he promised some wild stunt and ended up hitting his head? 

Talking seems difficult—his throat feels dry, and when he’d tried to open his mouth, his jaw screamed at him to shut the hell up—so he settles for reaching out to slip his hand in Jiho’s, squeezing at it in hopes of waking Jiho up.

//

The drive to the safehouse – even the switching of cars, which physically hurt to leave his Merc behind – passed in a blur, Jiho’s only thoughts being of Kyung and the Organisation. He’d stopped for petrol at one point, and had bought a bandage from the store, had kneeled on the concrete and wrapped it around Kyung’s head delicately. Even when he was driving, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching over every so often to check Kyung’s pulse, to make sure he was still  _ there _ .

When they’d arrived, he’d stashed the car in the garage – so it couldn’t be seen by helicopters or satellites – and had carried Kyung inside, tucking him into bed and changing his bandage with careful, gentle touches, unable to stop himself from laying his hand on Kyung’s cheek, so warm and solid underneath his fingertips.

He then settles himself in a chair next to the bed, willing himself to stay awake – it’s the middle of the day, now, but he’s never felt so tired and drained in his life. As much as he tries to keep his eyes open, to keep watching the rise and fall of Kyung’s chest… he can’t, and finds himself drifting away into sleep. They’re safe here, right? It’s okay for him to get a few minutes of sleep… Surely…

When he wakes, Kyung’s squeezing his hand weakly, and his very first instinct is to squeeze back and smile at him, both completely content – and then the knowledge of what’s transpired between them hits Jiho like a fucking sledgehammer and his smile falters, because Kyung fucking hates him, and all the oxygen in the room vanishes and he gasps with the pain.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, breathlessly, resisting the urge to cling onto Kyung’s hand tighter. “Do you remember what happened?”

//

“Like shit,” Kyung immediately croaks back; his throat feels like sandpaper and he wants nothing more than to down back a fuckton of painkillers and go back to sleep. But  _ Jiho _ is here so he forces his eyes to stay open, blinking with the hopes that his eyes would stop trying to shrivel back into his head. That, coupled with the fact that his face hurts—his fucking  _ face _ , how’s that even possible?—causes him to groan as he pulls Jiho’s hand closer to him like a lifeline. 

It’s the look of guilt that gets to him first, encroaches on his airy feelings (albeit severely weighed down by the godamn headache) and reminds him of a scene not too long ago. It’s a little out of reach, now, a little elusive and a little surrounded by darkness for Kyung to make out a clear picture of it, but he knows it involves Jiho and the taste of bitter disappointment.

“Where are we?” he asks as he internally wills for that nagging feeling to go away. It feels heavy and sharp and all of the things that Kyung can’t even think about dealing with when his head feels like it’s about split in half. “And what do I have to do for water?”

//

Kyung doesn’t remember, he doesn’t  _ fucking _ remember and God, it’s like Jiho’s being punished over and over again, being flayed and raked over the coals without a moment’s respite… Because it’s going to hurt twice as much when Kyung finally remembers and recoils instead of pulling him in close, when the expression on his face changes from a slight smile to one of disgust. Jiho must make a noise because Kyung looks up at him, concerned.

“I’ll get you some,” he smiles, bringing Kyung’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles, the fact that this is  _ allowed _ for the moment making him smile at the same time as he feels he wants to die, because it’s like he’s stuck in some fucked up time loop.

He lets go of Kyung’s hand and heads to the kitchen, sticks a glass of water under the tap and sighs. When he looks down at his hands, he can see they’re trembling; he doesn’t  _ want _ this anymore because this is just pain on top of pain on top of pain. He takes the glass back into the bedroom and hands it to Kyung, watching measuredly as he drains it in one go and looks up at Jiho, his face open and – and full of affection, and Jiho turns away, he can’t fucking stand it, he’s going to go insane.

“We’re at the safehouse,” he mutters, his voice low and reflecting the way his heart is breaking all over again. “Do you remember?”

//

It’s harder to keep the dark, blank spot in his memories away when Jiho leaves the room, not only because he loses the only thing he has to occupy himself with, but also because of Jiho’s expression. He’d looked so… so conflicted, so torn by himself, even as he’d kissed Kyung’s hand. The last time that’d happened, they were holed up in Kyung’s favourite spot in the library, but now… this time… He’s interrupted from the sense of impending doom by Jiho returning with a glass of water, looking even more shaky than before, if possible. Kyung wants to ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t have the capacity to speak as he struggles to sit up against the headboard. When he looks up at Jiho again, he’s turned away, like he can’t bear to look at Kyung, like he’s done something—

Right, that’s it. Kyung’s headache seems to recede in light of the sudden surge of  _ remembering _ .  _ Oh _ , he thinks and touches a hand to his cheek as images of the stranger’s fist coming rushing towards him returns.  _ Oh _ , he thinks, as he remembers seeing Jiho sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms wrapped around himself.  _ Oh _ , he thinks, and sets the glass down with a clatter on the table next to the bed.

“Yeah,” he manages at last, lifting his hand to touch his head. Bandaged, and neatly, from what he can tell. Carefully, just like Jiho does everything else. Meticulously. Thoroughly. Even when he’d been sending a dagger straight at a man’s head. God, Kyung’s got to  _ stop _ thinking about that, if only for his own sanity. But now he looks scared and guilty and Kyung’s so fucking tired, both physically and emotionally, that he wishes he hadn’t woken up in the first place. “Did you—“  _ Kill him? _ Kyung wants to finish, but doesn’t. It’s an uncomfortably long moment before he gestures to his head and asks, “Who was that?”

//

Jiho can tell when Kyung remembers, because he touches his face like he’s not sure who he is, like he’s coming back to himself. Jiho sags into the chair next to the bed, but he doesn’t reach out for Kyung’s hand, as much as he wants to – he knows that’s over now.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. “One of the Organisation. I didn’t ask his name.”

He closes his eyes and mourns what was, even for a moment – because before Kyung remembered there was genuine affection in his eyes, and he’d even  _ reached _ for Jiho, like – like they were still real. And that fucking hurts to think about, it feels just like a knife being slid in between his ribs, so he shakes his head to clear it of those thoughts and sighs. “How’s your head?”

//

Seated like this, Jiho looks small and unsure and not at all like the solution Kyung’d been seeking for. Seated like this, Jiho looks more like a problem than anything else, and Kyung can’t decide if he’s playing Kyung up or not. He has no reason to, right? That’s all done and over with. They had a screaming match. Jiho’s saved Kyung’s life not once, not twice, but  _ thrice _ now. That in itself is even more perplexing, and it makes Kyung wish that guy had just decapitated him and gotten it done and over with. 

(And then there’s the issue of sitting in front of him without touching him; as it turns out, having his heart broken didn’t break that sort of magnetism he had towards Jiho, that even though he’d been forced out of orbit, Kyung finds himself gravitating back towards him, hands twitching to reach over and  _ touch _ . But he keeps them clasped in his lap, thumb pressing into the center of his palm, just kneading restlessly.) 

“Exactly how it looks,” Kyung returns, swallowing a little nervously. He feels thrown off because the residual of the warm feelings he’s had just moments ago hadn’t left him yet. And if he could, he could just reach out and touch Jiho and it’d be  _ so fucking easy _ to just pretend again. That’s what’d gotten him into trouble in the first place, wasn’t it? The ease of it all. “Like shit. You don’t happen to have painkillers, do you? Or you could just knock me out again.”

//

Jiho recoils at that, scrunching his eyes shut and retreating further into himself. “I didn’t…” It’s pointless, however, to try and justify himself to Kyung, so he just presses his lips shut. “I’ll get you some.”

He heads out of the room, to the other bedroom where he’d dumped his duffel bag, and opens it, poring through his guns and knives and the odd grenade to find where he’d emptied his entire medicine cabinet, and eventually finds pill bottles rattling around the bottom. He grabs both the paracetamol and the oxycontin, because who knows, Kyung might want something stronger.

He actually has to steel himself to walk back into the room, because seeing the cold indifference in Kyung’s eyes is too fucking much, and he’s going to snap if he has to see it for much longer. The memories of everything they did together (so intense in such a short period of time) hang in the air whenever they’re together, and it’s just too fucking bittersweet. Eventually, however, he manages to make his feet move, and offers Kyung the pills, his palms outstretched. “Left is paracetamol, right is oxys.”

//

Kyung snags the pills from Jiho’s right palm and swallows them both dry. They don’t kick in instantly, of course; in an ideal world, Kyung would be out like a light now. Instead, he forces himself to make eye contact with Jiho to thank him, gesturing at the chair next to the bed as a request for Jiho to sit down again. 

They were going to be stuck here for god knows how long, and Kyung doesn’t want to spend the entire godamn time flitting from room to room to room (presumably, this looked like a nice house) avoiding him. He wanted to talk solutions, to talk about getting back at his life. And maybe, if part of all that talking involved asking Jiho what his own plans were, then Kyung can at least say that it came up organically. 

The pills are stronger than he’d anticipated, though, because by the time he’s trying to put his thoughts in order, he finds that they’re mostly a jumbled mess that he can’t make heads or tails of. Still, he manages a soft, “How long are we going to be here for?”, his gaze to staying on Jiho’s face in a way that’s almost challenging.

//

Jiho stretches out on the chair, trying to look relaxed and probably failing miserably. Kyung  _ still _ disarms him, even after all the fucking shit they’ve been through. He manages to meet Kyung’s gaze even though the guilt gnaws away at his inside. “Not more than two weeks,” he replies, attempting to shrug nonchalantly. “I guess around a week. From what I’ve heard, things are not good in the Organisation. If they really are collapsing internally, it won’t take long.”

He wanted to reach out to M, to see what was going on, if it was the same on his end – but honestly, Jiho’s not sure if he can trust him. So he’s in this alone, cut off from what has been his lifeline for the past three years… At least he’d had the sense to transfer his money out from the Organisation’s accounts and into his own Swiss bank ones, so he’s still got access to that. And as he’s learned, money can buy you literally anything on earth. 

All he – they – can do, really, is sit and wait. Although that seems to be hard for Kyung, who’s head is beginning to loll back on the pillows, his eyes starting to close.

//

“Oh,” Kyung says, feeling like he’d just been plunged underwater. His head no longer hurts because his body feels so  _ light _ , like a speck of dust floating in the middle of the room. If he isn’t careful, he might go ricocheting off the surface of the earth. It’s a thought that makes him laugh a little dryly to himself. And when he looks up, Jiho’s face is closer than before, looking small and worried and  _ pinched _ and Kyung wants to tell that look to get the fuck away and to give Kyung back the Jiho that he knows.

As it turns out, the painkiller numbs not only his pain, but his brain-to-mouth filter as well, because he finds himself reaching out for Jiho again, fingers circling around Jiho’s wrist. It’s more reassuring this way, anyway—then at least he wouldn’t feel like he’s going to disappear away into nothingness. And Jiho’s skin carries a familiar warmth that makes Kyung tug at him as he blurts out, “Are you sad? You’re too pretty to be sad.” 

Which isn’t quite the question  _ or _ the statement that he wanted to have made if he were more clearheaded; it’s more of an amalgamation of how  _ good _ Jiho looks with his dark hair, and how Kyung can’t resist teasing him even in a situation like this. But it gets the point across, sort of. His tongue feels too sluggish in his mouth for him to attempt at rephrasing that question, anyway. Even as he stares at Jiho in askance for an answer, Jiho’s form’d already started to grow fuzzy around the edges and increasingly blurry with each blink.

//

The feeling of Kyung circling his fingers around Jiho’s wrist has him biting his lip, warring with himself – but the words that Kyung speaks cements his decision and he winds their fingers together, biting his lip at how fucking good it feels to be touching Kyung like this, even if it’s just because he’s high out of his mind on oxycontin. Kyung looks down at their conjoined hands with wonder, and then back up at him, and Jiho nearly falls off the chair; the full force of Kyung turning his gaze on him is too much to bear.

“Yes, I’m sad,” he chuckles, stroking his thumb across the skin of Kyung’s hand. “You are too, you just can’t feel it.” 

He’s putting words in Kyung’s mouth, truly – he doesn’t know whether, when he’s in his right mind, he’s sad, or confused, or hurt, or if he wants to kill Jiho in his sleep. He just doesn’t know, and he doesn’t particularly care – in fact, he eyes the pill bottle that he’d dumped on the bedside table, realising that being high would be a pretty fucking good distraction right about now.

//

“Ha,” Kyung manages, trying to tug Jiho even closer because he doesn’t know how to ask him to get into bed with him properly. Words seem hard, now, but what’s easy is to draw Jiho nearer, to lay his head on Jiho’s shoulder and hold on tight. That isn’t happening, evidently, by the way Jiho doesn’t seem to budge in the slightest. “You’re making me sad.”

Nothing that he wants to say seems to be coming out right. He wants to tell Jiho that Kyung isn’t sad, far from it, that Jiho makes Kyung’s blood sing in more ways than one—in good ways and bad ways, in ways that makes Kyung’s heart swell three times its original size, and in ways that makes Kyung wish he didn’t have a heart at all. But they all share a common factor, and that is that Park Kyung’d irrevocably fallen for this person who may or may not be a mirage. And if he’s sad—if Jiho’s folded in within himself like he doesn’t know what to do—then what else can Kyung be but the same? 

None of that makes it out remotely coherently. What does comes out instead is this: “Stay, later.” And then Kyung’s eyes slip shut and he dreams of a world plunged in a dark blue.

//

The moment Kyung falls asleep, Jiho grabs the pill bottle and shakes out an oxy, crushing it with the bottom of the bottle and snorting it right there on the fucking bedside table, having no goddamn shame – no shame in getting up and crawling over Kyung to lie on the other side of the bed, either, to watch the rise and fall of his chest. Kyung looks – he looks so fucking peaceful, like there’s no violence and death in his life – most importantly, like there’s no Woo Jiho, either.

He groans aloud at that, and gets off the bed to head outside, needing the fresh air on his face, needing to get away from that fucking room. The oxy is already starting to kick in, and the ground seems to shift underneath his feet as he walks; he loves it, loves the feeling of losing himself, like he could fall over at any moment – because he could, couldn’t he? And it wouldn’t matter, none of this would fucking matter.

He grabs his pistol, lying on the kitchen table, as he staggers out onto the back porch, his bones going wobbly all of a sudden. The one advantage to this house is it’s in the middle of fucking nowhere, so he can shoot a gun as many times as he wants to without consequences, which is exactly what he plans to do. He’s got nothing against trees right now, but he has an itchy trigger finger, and it’s better than using himself for target practice. 

He stumbles into the woods that brush the back of the house, not looking back and most certainly  _ not _ thinking of Kyung.

//

The room’s in near darkness the next time Kyung wakes up; if not for the sliver of moonlight shining in through the gap between the curtains, he wouldn’t know if he’d opened his eyes yet or not.  _ Countryside _ , he reminds himself as he groggily tries to feel around him,  _ no light pollution _ . He’s still in the exact same space he remembered passing out on, but Jiho isn’t there any more. The room’s quiet, and not in the way it’s quiet when he’s busy just  _ looking _ at Jiho, it’s quiet in a way that has his goosebumps raising, and his instincts screaming at him to move and go check if the door is locked.

It takes him several minutes before he can muster the strength to sit up, and then several more minutes to swing his feet off of the bed and finally  _ get up _ , slightly woozily and shakily. At least his head doesn’t hurt anymore, although he’s gotten to the point of  _ numb _ where it feels almost sickening. He only has his socks on, he realizes, and the thought of Jiho removing his shoes makes his stomach churn even more.

It’s a good thing the light is on in the living room, shining a path up the stairs for Kyung to carefully tread downwards to, or he might’ve fallen and broken his neck, then all of Jiho’s efforts would’ve gone to waste. Speaking of which—the house is still silent, but the thought of Jiho having upped and left him doesn’t occur to him once. He peers in every room he passes: guest bedroom, dingy bathroom, kitchen, before finally finding his way towards the source of the light. The living room’s furnished exactly how a furniture shop would, with wooden tables and wooden chairs and a large, sprawling sofa. Kyung spots a hand slinging off of the back and his heart stops for a moment—what if Jiho’d  _ died _ and Kyung’d been sleeping all along? What if he never manages to tell Jiho that he—and then he hears a ruffling sound and the hand disappears from his sight and he freezes before padding closer and closer, only to find Jiho passed out on his back, his eyebrows drawn together even in his sleep.

Like this, Jiho looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful, of course, that’d been why Kyung’d been drawn to him in the first place, but when he’s asleep, Kyung can forget all the shitty things that’d transpired between them, can forget the look of distress on Jiho’s face whenever he has to face Kyung, can forget that Kyung’d shouted at him to fuck off that he’d mostly meant. He doesn’t realize he’s zoning out until Jiho moves again, and then he flushes, darting back so quickly he almost trips over the coffee table.

He can’t keep watching Jiho like this; not only would that be  _ creepy _ , but he can’t be held accountable for his rampant feelings afterwards. Looking at him was what made Kyung fall in the first place, so naturally the answer for his current problem was to look away. So he heads into the kitchen in search for some kind of  _ food _ , at least, and finds a kettle (disturbingly dusty) and several cans of food and some ramyun that’ve surprisingly not passed their expiry date yet. Kyung nearly laughs at the fact that he’s finding  _ spam _ and  _ ramyun _ comforting, but he does, so he sets to work trying to cook them in a bid to keep himself distracted.

//

Jiho wakes to the sound of clanking pots, and his hand goes for his knife under his pillow. Until he realises he doesn’t  _ have _ a pillow, because he’s not at home, and all he has is his gun, lying discarded on the floor next to him. It’s useless to him because it’s empty – unfortunately, oxycontin doesn’t make you forget – so he sits up slowly and peers over the back of the sofa, his heart racing –

And sees Kyung, illuminated by the moonlight filtering in the window, his back to Jiho while he stands over the stove, stirring a pot. The sight of his face in the moonlight is so familiar and painful that Jiho flinches, flopping back onto the lounge with a melodramatic groan so at least Kyung knows he’s awake.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he calls, closing his eyes and stretching out. “You’re meant to be on bedrest.”

//

Kyung nearly scalds himself by upending the pot he’d been holding onto at the sudden sound of Jiho’s voice and it’s a good thing he didn’t, because there’d only been two cups of ramyun in there, which means that if he spilled this, they were probably going to starve. Realistically, though, Jiho probably has some contingency plan for food and water that Kyung would’ve to figure out how to pay back for, later. Maybe he could wash Jiho’s ridiculously expensive car (that he now realizes is probably the product of dirty money). 

“I’d also starve to death in bed,” Kyung points out, tapping the singular pair of chopsticks he’d found in one of the drawers against the edge of the pot before turning around to look at Jiho. It’s a mistake, because he’s reminded of how many feelings he’d invested in Jiho, and how he can never reclaim them again. But Park Kyung likes challenges, and this is one hell of a challenge. Now that he’s significantly pain free and away from the people he loves and cares about, it’s easier not to feel like he’s standing on the edge of a very tall, very sharp cliff. The same, apparently, can’t be said for Jiho. 

“I made enough for you, if you’re hungry,” Kyung adds, as he turns back around to turn off the stove like an open invitation. He wants this to feel normal— _ needs _ it to feel normal—because there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to get past the two weeks with this much tension between them.

//

It’s not until Kyung says it that Jiho realises he’s starving – that, and along with his pounding head, make him realise he’s nursing a mother of an oxy hangover. So he hauls himself off the lounge and heads into the kitchen, resisting the urge to put his arms around Kyung’s waist and pull him close, kiss him, feel him –

No.

He won’t allow himself to think shit like that, because it will just end up killing him – the thought of what could have been is omnipresent; he doesn’t need to torture himself anymore when it’s clear that Kyung still hates him, understandably so.

“Yes please,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb awkwardly, aware he probably has creases on his face from sleeping funny. “I’ll go out and get some more food when it’s light. Didn’t have time yesterday.”


	10. Chapter 10

Kyung definitely doesn’t think about how ironic it is that they’d essentially started out by aggressively refusing to get out of each other’s faces, and now they’re tip-toeing around each other like something might break if they talk a little too loudly. Which is also true, Kyung’s head feels as fragile as meat that has been tenderized, even on the godamn painkillers, and he’s going to have to ask Jiho about what to do about it soon. He just doesn’t like feeling so dependent on someone he knows he’s never going to see again after these two weeks. That is,  _ if _ they’re both lucky. 

He can’t find a placemat to stick on the table, so he grabs a plate and puts the pot over that too. And if he swallows as he pulls out a chair for Jiho, then he can say without guilt that it’s because he’s hungry. 

“I only found these,” Kyung says, waving his chopsticks in the air. “No forks or spoons… but I saw a couple of knives so, unless that’s your preferred eating utensil…?” It’s not like Kyung hadn’t seen the way Jiho wielded his knives either. He doesn’t want to know how many weapons Jiho has on his person, now, and he certainly doesn’t want to even consider the fact that the only way he can get Jiho as  _ Jiho _ is if he strips down naked. Now  _ that’s _ dangerous territory. “I found some spam, so—” Kyung pinches a slice of meat between the tip of his chopsticks and sticks it in his mouth, then immediately regrets it when it burns his tongue and he stretches his already tender jaw in a bid to cool off, swearing and cursing all the way.

//

“Fuck,” Jiho stutters around his mouthful of noodles, standing up to get Kyung a glass of water – but the chair clatters to the ground behind him and he winces at the noise, sticking a glass under the tap anyway and handing it to Kyung, ignoring the way he jumps when their fingers touch.

He sets his chair right and watches Kyung down the glass – watches the way his lips purse, watches the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows, watches how a drop of water escapes and runs down his chin in a way that seems obscene –

_ No. _

“How is your head?” he mumbles, aware he’s blushing, picking up the chopsticks. “Is it still sore? I’ll have to check your dressing in a bit.”

//

Kyung has a head injury, which means that his eyes are working fine, which means that he’s not just seeing things when he catches Jiho blushing after he sets down his glass of water. It’s infectious, Jiho’s blush, because Kyung can feel the tip of his ears growing red too. 

“I can’t feel anything, actually,” Kyung confesses, watching Jiho eat because there’d only been that singular pair of chopsticks. He wonders who the previous occupants of this house had been, if there were even any previous occupants in this house, or if Jiho had—and then Jiho’s slurping his food up noisily, the noodles disappearing into the plump ‘o’ formed by his lips and, yeah, this was a bad idea. This was  _ really _ a bad idea. Kyung looks away and tries to think of something else: the time Taeil had thrown up on his shoes, the time he’d walked in on Jaehyo hooking up with a classmate. Anything that’d stop him from thinking about kissing Jiho again, because how long had it been since he’d kissed him? Had Kyung known the last time was going to be the last time, he’d have drawn it out a little more, teased Jiho a little more, made him whine a little more.

This isn’t going to do, so he quickly pipes up with a question, sounding very much like he’s making small talk with someone he’d recently met, “What are you going to do, after this?”

//

Jiho puts the chopsticks down and slides them towards Kyung before sitting back in his chair, surprised. He really, genuinely hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know,” he begins slowly, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling so he doesn’t have to watch Kyung eat, or look at his lips. “I still don’t have any useful qualifications. This is the only job I’ve ever known. Go back into fighting, probably.”

It’s less an answer to the question and more a stream of consciousness, and he’s  _ very _ tempted to crack a joke – but, well, it’s not the time or the place and it won’t be, ever again. He has to come to terms with that, that the fact is that he has Park Kyung sitting opposite him and never again will Jiho be able to call him  _ his _ . It’s going to take some getting used to, because Kyung was the best thing to happen to him in a while, or ever, probably, and Jiho feels his loss like a hole in his heart, even though they’re sitting opposite each other.

//

Kyung nearly chokes on his food for the second time that night at Jiho’s answer, though this time he manages to actually swallow without turning purple. He knows this. He knows that Jiho’d said that he used to fight, even if the idea of fighting rings eluded Kyung, who’d only seen that sort of crap in movies.  _ You’re too tender to fight _ , Kyung wants to say, but then again, he did kill multiple people in cold blood. Besides, it’s not Kyung’s place to dictate whatever Jiho wanted to do. They lead wholly different lives: Kyung was going to graduate and apply for a master’s degree, Jiho, apparently, was going to sock people in the face until they didn’t have a face.

Which then begets the question: “Do you like it?” Kyung can’t help but ask, because in this quiet kitchen in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Kyung finds his courage again. The same thread of strength that he had the first time they’d met, that exhilaration and that exciting push and pull between them. It’s just a different stranger this time, sharing the same face. “The fighting, I mean.”

//

“Not particularly,” Jiho shoots back immediately, picking up the chopsticks and grabbing a mouthful. “It’s an outlet, and an adrenaline rush, and it pays, and I’m good at it… But it’s not my favourite thing in the world to do.”

_ That would be you _ , he thinks, smirking into the pot of noodles, putting the chopsticks down and chewing. He considers asking Kyung a question, but, well – he already knows so much about Kyung and Jiho is still a closed book, even now that everything is laid out bare between them. He can give Kyung the opportunity to know who he is before he walks out of Jiho’s life; it’s the least he can do, really. 

//

He doesn’t understand at all how Jiho thinks this is the only thing he’s good at, gauging from everything he’s told Kyung. Which isn’t a lot, but Kyung can pick and choose the pieces to put together a sort of  picture that he hopes best represents Woo Jiho. It’s kind of unnerving, too, that Jiho’s seen his room, slept in his bed, met his  _ father _ , when Kyung doesn’t even know if Jiho  _ has _ a family or not. And even up to this point, even when Jiho has no foreseeable reason to lie, Kyung still can’t quite find it in himself to believe him a 100%. 

“So you do like it, in a way,” Kyung muses, stirring the pot to even out the soup. “Kind of like the way an adrenaline junkie does wild things… you… you do this.” His tone isn’t judgmental or even cold or doubtful, it’s more pondering. Questioning. Throwing away everything he’s known and re-evaluating it again. At any rate, this seemed like the right time for Kyung to ask everything he’s ever wanted. He really shouldn’t be curious any more, but he has a million and one questions bubbling up to the surface. “The guy that you saw at the dumpling restaurant… was he also one of you?”

//

Jiho barks a cough of laughter at that, making Kyung jump with surprise. He’s decided to be honest with Kyung  _ right _ as Kyung decides to ask the hard questions. Well, it’s no less than he deserves, so he slumps back in the chair and raises an eyebrow.

“Yep. His name’s M. Batshit insane, very good with guns. We did a mission together once.” He shrugs.  _ Also good in bed _ , he adds as a postscript – Kyung hasn’t asked, so he doesn’t know if he should offer the information… But Kyung’s looking at him expectantly so he tilts his head back and sighs. “And we slept together twice.” 

Honestly? M is a  _ great _ fuck – if a little too willing to bring knives into the bedroom – but he doesn’t even come close to Kyung. Sex is just sex, but with Kyung there was a whole ‘nother layer of emotional connection that made everything just that little bit more intense; he realises abstractly that he’ll never have that again, not ever, and considers crushing up another oxy to relieve himself of that pain.

//

He hears  _ guns _ and  _ mission _ and  _ batshit insane _ , but the thing that has Kyung frozen with the noodles halfway to his mouth is that they’ve  _ slept together _ . For Kyung, that translates to this: they have history, M—whatever the fuck kind of name  _ that _ is—knew Jiho before Kyung did, and in a way Kyung would never know Jiho. Suddenly, all his appetite is gone, and he feels stupidly like the first time he’d ever dated someone, when all your emotions were intense and  _ everything _ was a big deal.

It shouldn’t be, it can’t be. So Kyung shovels the noodles into his mouth so he doesn’t have to reply instantly, and ends up saying, “When? This isn’t a… weird post-mission kind of kink thing, is it?” And he’s glad that he sounds more like he usually does when Jaehyo’s had a night out when all he really wants to do is grab Jiho by the front of his shirt and fist his hair and kiss him to let him know that, yeah, Kyung still wants this, and Kyung wants to be the only one who can want this.

//

“Um,” he begins, to stall for time, because he wants to get up from the table and run into the woods and never come back. “Um…

“When… When you’re on a mission, there’s so much adrenaline flowing through your body. It’s intense, for obvious reasons. One thing sort of led to another when we were done with the mission. So, yes, it was a weird-post mission thing.” He finishes with a huff, leaning forward and placing his palms flat on the table. “That was the first time years ago.”

He reads the question in Kyung’s eyes –  _ and the second?  _ – and closes his eyes so he won’t have to look at Kyung when he speaks. It’s not  _ cheating _ because they had broken up (in the most spectacular of fashions), but still he feels  _ guilty  _ for some weird reason. “The second time was… was a few days ago. Um, like a week ago. Or something,” he finishes lamely, still with his eyes shut, not wanting to look at Kyung to see his reaction.

//

_ Or something _ . Kyung can feel the flush creeping up his neck and his cheeks and if he thought he’d lost his appetite just now, it’s entirely gone now, so he sets the chopstick down and tries to think of something to say that isn’t just incoherent noises. It’s weird, Jiho looks as guilty as Kyung feels possessive, but  _ none _ of that applied. And he wants to fix it somehow, wants to remind Jiho that he’s right, that Kyung’s stupid for lying and moping in bed when Jiho’d been, essentially, getting off. It doesn’t even make  _ sense _ , but still his chest tightens and he feels like he’d been punched again, but in the gut this time.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if Jiho expects an answer from him at all. But eventually, after what seems like an eternity, he says, “So you either had a mission several days ago, or he’s just that good.” It sounds bitter, even to his ears, and he can’t stand the fact that Jiho’s going to hear it too. It’s one thing to keep it to himself, but it’s another thing to have it spill between them. 

He knows the answer, anyway. Jiho’d said multiple times that he couldn’t get a job, which means that the bastard is  _ just that good _ . And what had Jiho said during their mock fight in the middle of the road? That Kyung was easy, that Kyung fell hook, line, and sinker. It doesn’t even matter whether or not that’s true, now, because it hurts anyway.

//

“I was so drunk I barely remembered my own name,” Jiho replies honestly, opening his eyes to see Kyung looking several shades paler (from what? Revulsion? Jealousy?). “That’s how I spent most of that time, drunk or high.” His voice is raw, although he doesn’t know why. “He texted me and told me he was outside my apartment and I was bored and drunk and thought it was a good idea at the time.” 

He feels, oddly, like he’s going to be sick, so he reaches for the chopsticks and shoves the last mouthful of ramen in his mouth instead, just for something to  _ do _ so he can drop his eyes to the pot instead of feeling like he’s being dissected by Kyung – which he is, he supposes. He feels the weirdest urge to  _ apologise _ even though he knows he has nothing at all to apologise for, but the weight of his confession hangs in the air between them anyway.

//

Kyung doesn’t know what to do with this sudden barrage of information. He’d pictured it differently, just now, of how Jiho’d spent the last two weeks. For every time Kyung laid in his bed, groaning, for every time Kyung’d been bullied into the shower by Jaehyo, he’d imagined Jiho elsewhere, somewhere warm, probably, as someone pressed even warmer kisses against his inked skin. But this? Jiho’s voice indicates something far off from what Kyung’d envisioned. 

So he finds himself moving before he can think about it, disregards the fact that his face is imbalanced from the swelling going on on one side of his jaw, from the way Jiho still looks a little blearily from sleep, and tips forward to do exactly what he’d wanted to do the second he’d seen Jiho—fist the front of his shirt and drag him in for a kiss. He’d intended for it to be just that, a kiss, something of the same quality (hopefully) as one of that M bastard’s kisses. But it doesn’t. It never is, with Jiho, and soon it’s hot and desperate and Kyung has a hand on the back of Jiho’s head and  _ god _ , how much he’s missed it. He’s yearned for it so much he could actually fucking cry

//

Jesus _ fucking  _ Christ. The taste of Kyung’s lips is so familiar, the way he tugs at Jiho’s hair so much like the feel of home that he moans openly and unashamedly, nearly ripping Kyung’s shirt in his eagerness to shove his hands up underneath it. He’s had nothing but sex for the past two weeks, but nothing that’s felt like this, nothing that’s made him reach for the other person desperately. He palms his hand on the skin of Kyung’s stomach, amazed that he  _ can _ , amazed that Kyung is here and real and they’re really fucking doing this. He breaks the kiss only for a moment, to scoot round the side of the table so he’s standing in front of Kyung, looking down at him – and oh, God, he doesn’t want to  _ look _ , he wants to feel, so he slides his arms around Kyung’s back and pulls him close so their bodies are flush, the heat of Kyung’s skin better than any drug.

They kiss hungrily and fiercely, Kyung’s hand angling Jiho’s head to deepen the kiss, his hands skittering all over Jiho’s body, like he’s not entirely sure  _ where _ he wants to go. Jiho doesn’t give a shit, he could do this all day, he could do this forever – this is all he wants to do forever, for the rest of time, he realises as Kyung digs his nails into his back. This is his eternity.

//

Pressed up against Jiho like this, Kyung doesn’t know  _ why _ he’d waited so long when Jiho’d clearly been willing all along. Lying or not,  _ this _ was something they were both good at. So what if their intentions misaligned? So what if in the end, this is all they had between them? It’s intoxicatingly addicting, and Kyung could honestly kick himself for waiting so fucking long.

He eventually settles one hand in Jiho’s hair (and it’s as soft as he remembers), the other slipping into his back pocket to grasp at his ass as Kyung walks them away from the table and against the kitchen counter, where he’s practically leaning up and kissing him like his life fucking depended on it. 

He wants to erase all traces of anyone else who’s ever touched Jiho between the Kyung of two weeks ago, and the Kyung of now. He wants to remind Jiho that what they had was magnetic, that what they had had them both coming back for more again and again and again—so he breaks the kiss to bite down on Jiho’s neck, drag his teeth down against fragile skin as he pushes the hem of Jiho’s shirt up from his stomach. They eyes meet as Kyung coaxes Jiho into tugging his shirt off, and for one heart-stopping moment, they’re just sizing each other up as they try to catch their breaths.

//

There’s a hunger in the way Kyung kisses him, in the way he pushes Jiho against the kitchen counter and rips his shirt off – a hunger and possessiveness, somehow, that’s quite honestly the hottest thing Jiho’s ever been on the receiving end of. He shivers as Kyung looks him over, wonders if he looks any different now that Kyung knows the truth of what he is, what he’s done.

And then they’re kissing again, and perhaps it’s the delusions of the both of them still riding the residual high of the oxycontin, but god, Jiho’s never ever felt like this before. Every new experience with Kyung tops the list, but this? This can’t be beaten, not ever, and he’ll carry this memory to the grave. He wants  _ more _ of Kyung, he always fucking wants more, so he yanks at Kyung’s shirt violently, pulling it over his head, being careful to mind the bandage. When they come together again there’s so much  _ skin _ that he feels his eyes roll back in his head, his hands settling on Kyung’s hips where they belong, where they’ve always belonged. 

“Missed this,” he mutters hoarsely as Kyung bites him on the neck, the collarbone, the shoulder, leaving marks. “More than you’ll know.” 

//

Kyung stops short at Jiho’s words, freezing right over Jiho’s tattoo that reads  _ God Save Paulus _ . He purses his lips and digs his nails into Jiho’s shoulder, Jiho’s back, feeling like he could float away at any given moment, like Jiho’s said the magic words and now, Kyung’s going to vanish. It’s a stupid thought, of course, but it’s one that incenses him, one that has him gripping Jiho’s chin—still gently, as much as he wants to do it otherwise, as much as he wants to do it with a brash sort of indifference, he just can’t when it comes to him—to tip his face towards Kyung’s.

“Prove it,” he says, experiencing an odd sense of deja vu, like he’s said this all before, like they’ve been here before. He doesn’t know what he looks like now—eyes wide with lust and anger and an indescribable, insurmountable  _ want _ , mouth red from their earlier kissing, his chest flushed from the neck down—but he hopes the message gets across anyway. _ It better be fucking real this time _ . “Show me how much.”

//

Without another word – Jiho’s never been one to back down from a challenge, and by God he  _ wants _ to show Kyung how much, wants to demonstrate exactly  _ how _ many times he’d thought of him while fucking someone else – Jiho grabs Kyung by the waist and picks him up, feeling Kyung wrap his legs around his hips automatically as he strides away from the kitchen and into the unfamiliar bedroom, the covers rumpled from where Kyung had laid earlier. Carefully – not as violently as he’d like, considering Kyung’s head – he deposits Kyung on the bed, watching with hungry eyes as he lies down. Following him, Jiho crawls on the bed, his hands dimpling the mattress as he trails his way lazily up Kyung’s body, kissing just below his bellybutton, daring to bite at a spot on his ribs, arriving at his lips breathless from the journey.

JIho lowers himself onto Kyung, feeling Kyung buck his hips upward into him, his cock digging into Jiho’s thigh, leaving the both of them gasping as they rut against each other. Kyung is  _ angry _ , Jiho can feel it in the way he digs his fingers in to every bit of flesh he can, so he responds in kind and drags his nails down Kyung’s chest, watching Kyung hiss and buck underneath his touch. He doesn’t want to draw this out – doesn’t know if he would be able to last – so he thumbs open the button and fly on Kyung’s pants and dives underneath to curl his hand around Kyung's cock, smiling at the way Kyung’s eyes roll back in his head at the touch. 

“Is this enough?” He rasps into Kyung’s neck, knowing what the answer will be, knowing they both want  _ more _ .

//

He’d thought that he’d missed kissing Jiho, missed it almost as much as he missed the man himself, but then Jiho curls his hand around Kyung’s dick and, yeah, he’s going to fucking kick himself for drawing this out for so long. But it’s  _ still _ not enough and he doesn’t know how to articulate that without sounding like a mess, so he grips Jiho’s hair to tug him back up to look at Kyung, and for a moment, all he’s doing is staring with his mouth open, panting, drinking Jiho in. He’s gorgeous, black hair falling over the sides of his face in waves, and even though he looks like he hasn’t slept in the past few weeks—as if Kyung can be of any judge of  _ that _ —and even though he looks absolutely wrecked, he makes Kyung’s heart stutter and Kyung has to look away to swallow.

He doesn’t like the tension from this silence; it isn’t the kind that’s electrifying, that he knows will be relieved when he touched Jiho next, or when Jiho kisses him next, but it’s choking. It makes Kyung feel like he can’t breathe, so he drags Jiho in for another biting kiss, his own hands wandering down south to undo Jiho’s pants and to push them down as he bucks up into Jiho’s hand, moaning into Jiho’s mouth. 

“I want you,” he says breathlessly, and that’s all he says for a while as he tries to push Jiho’s pants down all the way, as he tries to  _ focus _ with Jiho looking at him like  _ that _ . His breath stutters, but he forces himself to meet Jiho’s eyes, and it’s almost in defiance that he adds his, “To fuck me.”

//

Jiho has to close his eyes a moment when Kyung says that, because fuck.  _ Fuck _ . He’d never thought he’d hear those words again, and seeing them come out of Kyung’s mouth, while he’s  _ looking _ at Jiho like that, is purely pornographic. So he smirks as he manages to tug his own pants off, and then reaches for Kyung’s, dragging them over his hips and off completely, his breath ghosting over Kyung’s cock as Jiho crawls back up over the length of his body to look down at him, smiling. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss Kyung again before getting off the bed and going to the other bedroom to rummage through his duffel bag again – where he thanks God and all the stars that his medicine cabinet included condoms and lube. 

When he walks back into the room, he has to take a deep breath to center himself, because it’s  _ Kyung _ and Jiho had thought he was going to lose him forever – and the fact that he’s apparently  _ not _ is going to take some getting used to. When he can breathe again – although he’s panting a little bit – he manages to get back onto the bed, throwing the lube next to him and pressing a kiss to Kyung’s chest as he hovers above him, just drinking this in, still quite unsure that this is real and not just a drug- and sex-fuelled hallucination.

//

Jiho’s wearing that look on his face again, the one of uncertainty that should really,  _ really _ be Kyung’s. He wasn’t the one who turned out a wholly different person than he’d introduced himself to be, that he’d  _ opened up _ himself to be, so it’s unfair that Jiho looks at Kyung like Kyung’s the one who’s going to break Jiho’s heart. 

He doesn’t say any of that, though, doesn’t even indicate that he’s thinking any of that; he just curl his hand at the back of Jiho’s neck, fingers tugging almost absent-mindedly at the back of Jiho’s hair. “Like what you see?” he asks, and he manages to sound halfway to normal, teasing,  _ easy _ , as he wiggles his shoulders. This is what he knows how to do best. And then he’s shucking his pants off of the bed so he’s completely naked as he looks up expectantly at Jiho. There are too much of these lapsed silences, too much of them looking tentatively at each other like they’re not sure what sort of shit the other would pull next.

So Kyung drags Jiho in for another kiss, sticks a hand proprietarily on Jiho’s hip, and then drags his other hand down Jiho’s chest and over his stomach—nails catching on his skin all the way down—and finally comes to a rest as he grips onto Jiho’s cock and gives him a few encouraging strokes, as if to urge him to hurry the fuck up.

//

Jiho growls in response, but responds to the wordless command that Kyung transmits to him through touch, in the way he strokes Jiho’s cock encouragingly, his breath puffing onto Jiho’s cheek. He reaches for the lube and, deftly, manages to flick open the cap with one hand and squirt some onto his fingers, before reaching down between Kyung’s legs – gasping at the way Kyung spreads his thighs for him – and slipping a finger inside, not teasingly because they both know there’s no way they can last… There’s too much desperation between them, too many words unspoken, too many touches that are hungry beyond what’s normal (for them at least). 

He watches with bright eyes as Kyung arches up underneath him, linking his arms around Jiho’s neck and dragging him closer so he can kiss him messily, sloppily, the both of them gasping into each other’s mouths unashamedly. He loves the way Kyung responds to him when he goes a little deeper, or crooks his finger upward – it’s better than any artwork he’s ever seen, the way Kyung swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing; the way he licks his lips, his tongue obscenely pink compared to the pale of his skin – oh, God, he can’t stand it because he wants to fuck Kyung  _ now _ so he adds another finger, rewarded with a moan and a gasp.

//

_ This is the last time _ , he thinks dimly, hips moving up against Jiho’s hand almost involuntarily. The last time for them to be this close, and the last time for him to kiss Jiho like this—unreserved and unrestrained, pouring all the desperation and disappointment and  _ want _ he’d felt for the past few days into it. He can tell that Jiho isn’t playing around, either, isn’t grinning nor teasing, just looking at Kyung with a single-minded determination that has Kyung moaning his name, eyes falling to a close as he tries to concentrate on Jiho’s hand—on that pleasurable stretch, on the way the momentum they have going feels so fucking good, too easy to fall back into—instead of  _ Jiho _ .

It doesn’t work, though, so he grips onto Jiho’s arm to still his movements, their eyes still fixed onto one another’s as he makes a blind grab for the condom sachet lying somewhere beside him. There’s a moment where Jiho’s just watching him rip it open, watching him pull it out, and then Kyung’s reaching down to grip onto Jiho’s cock to roll it on, lip caught between his teeth as he pants. 

And then he’s looking up again, legs wrapping around Jiho’s waist to draw him closer as he positions Jiho to his entrance—and the whole time, Jiho’s just staring, like he can’t quite believe Kyung is right here or he can’t quite believe that this is really happening or if it  _ is _ , that it’s going to vanish at any moment. And he doesn’t want that. He wants Jiho in the here and now, wants Jiho to  _ remember _ this even after they’ve long parted ways. Because Kyung sure as hell isn’t going to forget. So he curls his free arm over Jiho’s neck and kisses his cheek, kisses his forehead, kisses his lips and murmurs, “Please.”

//

He does as he’s told and pushes in slowly, tipping his head back at the way Kyung is so  _ warm _ and  _ hot _ and  _ familiar _ and Christ, he can’t stop himself from starting to thrust somewhat helplessly, the way Kyung’s legs wrap around him driving him wild. Kyung’s looking at him,  _ touching _ him like it’s the last time, like Jiho is going to vanish – and perhaps, maybe, he is, and he’s suddenly content with that thought.

“Fuck,” he breathes, gasping and stuttering as he sets into a somewhat frantic rhythm, Kyung feeling too  _ good _ for him to hold back. “Kyung…”

He lets his sentence trail off, lets his eyes close, because Kyung looks so melancholy that he can’t stand it. He wants to say  _ no, stop, I’m meant to be the sad one, you’re meant to be the one full of hope _ but he opens his mouth and all that comes out is a moan, so he stores that thought for later and focuses on the fact that he’s fucking Kyung and oh, Christ, it feels so fucking good. 

//

Jiho doesn’t give time for Kyung to adjust, his thrusts coming in short and quickly, like he can’t stop himself. And helplessly, Kyung’s mouth falls open as his eyes widen and his fingernails sink into Jiho’s biceps, gasping with each of motion of Jiho’s hips.

“I know,” he mutters into Jiho’s ear, because he feels the exact same. That when they’re together like this, the world just narrows down into the two of them, that they could be on a bed or in a middle of a grass field or in a roof or a godamn public aquarium and Kyung wouldn’t even be able to tell; since the moment he’d laid eyes on Jiho at the laundromat, that’s all he’s ever been able to see. So he repeats again, choked, this time, shaky, with a kiss to the back of Jiho’s ear, “I know.” 

And then he’s tightening his legs, dragging his nails up against Jiho’s shoulders—because he can’t forget that someone else was here; someone else got to see Jiho like this, someone else will always get to see Jiho like this, someone who isn’t Kyung and would never be Kyung, again, and Kyung wants to let the world know that Jiho was his, once—to wrap his arms around his neck, hips moving up and against Jiho’s thrusts.

//

There’s too much air in the room, too much going on, he can’t focus on what he needs to – which is Kyung, arching up underneath him, raking his nails over every inch of skin he can, like he’s trying to write his name there, to mark it permanently. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, “fuck, Kyung, Kyung, Kyung…” he repeats Kyungs name, his litany, his prayer, as if by repeating his name Jiho can make him stay – they both know that’s not going to happen, but it’s okay to just pretend, just for a while.

He thrusts harder, faster, his breath coming more ragged now as he stutters and whines, the hand that’s not cradling Kyung’s face falling between them to close around Kyung’s cock, to jerk him off in time with his thrusts. He feels heat beginning to pool in his belly, so he closes his eyes and tries to refocus – because he doesn’t want this to end, not yet and not  _ ever… _ . He wants to stay here with Kyung, fucking each other into a stupor, forever.

//

"Fuck, don't—" Kyung chokes out, when Jiho's hand closes over his cock and oh  _ god _ , his eyes slip shut as he moans, chest arching up against Jiho. He doesn't know whether to thrust up into Jiho's hand or down against Jiho's cock, so he just grips onto Jiho and lets himself get lost in the heat of it all. 

He can feel his orgasm building and he knows, this is going to be all over soon but Jiho still has his eyes squeezed shut. So Kyung swallows and swallows and swallows, placing a hand reverently on Jiho's cheek (over an already healing scar) before he says, breathlessly, "Jiho— look at me." 

If he could choose to immortalize a moment in time, this would be it. Except for the helpless whimpers that escapes him, he's silent when he comes, eyes wide open as he watches Jiho watch him. He feels like he can't breathe, hips stuttering up against Jiho's hand, thighs tensing around Jiho's waist. And he thinks,  _ god, I love you _ , then closes his eyes.

//

Kyung is never more beautiful then when he comes, and usually it’s to a whispered reiteration of Jiho’s name – but this time he’s silent, his eyes boring into Jiho, his mouth open in a silent ‘o’. The feeling of Kyung tightening on him as his orgasm hits him – his cock dribbling come all over Jiho’s fingers – pushes him ever closer to the edge. All he’s looking for his a hair trigger, something to set him off, and it comes in the form of Kyung’s fingers digging into his shoulders, so deeply Jiho’s sure he’s drawn blood. He feels blindsided by his orgasm, even though he knew it was coming; it’s all he can do to stay present, to lose himself in the feeling of Kyung underneath him, to whine, “Kyung,” over and over again.

He collapses onto Kyung’s chest, sticky and hot and feeling thoroughly debauched, but not wanting to move just yet. If he moves he’ll break the fragile peace of the moment, and – and what? They’ll be back to repelling each other like magnets turned the wrong way, dancing around each other awkwardly. He can’t stand the thought of that because – well, because it’s fucking wrong, Kyung is his and he is Kyung’s and nothing should be able to come between that,  _ nothing _ .

Eventually, though, his sweat begins to cool and he starts to feel gross so he slips out of Kyung, tidies himself up – putting the condom in the bin and moving the lube off the bed, before crawling back onto the bed and lying next to Kyung – close but separated. He’ll let Kyung touch him if he wants to, let Kyung be the one who decides what they’ll do next… Because he is lost and floundering.

//

Kyung’s trying to get his own come off of his stomach and chest when Jiho gets up and moves around in complete silence. He’s not used to this; every time they’ve fucked, it’s usually accompanied by them jesting with each other, by Jiho grinning and glancing over at Kyung, as if he’s about to say something he thinks is really, really funny.   
  
But now, all Kyung gets is silence, and he can’t stand it. He can’t stand how they’ve built up an impasse between them both, and it’s one that Kyung doesn’t know how to cross. And he should be good with people, that’s who he’s supposed to be. Lying here, next to Jiho, he suddenly doesn’t know what to say, if there’s anything else left to say; all the words seem to have been wrung out of him in the frenzy that had just passed.   
  
If there’s one thing he knows, though, it’s that he still doesn’t want to let Jiho go. It’s too fucking soon, he hasn’t had his time yet, hasn’t had closure, hasn’t had enough of him to be willing to put him down and leave him behind. So he rolls over to his stomach, just watching Jiho for a quiet moment, eyes tracking down his body—calculating the purple blooming amongst the ink on his chest, the red lines running down his arms and up his shoulders—before swallowing to say, “Can you lie to me again?” He sounds scared, even to himself, so he sucks in a deep breath to at least sound like he knows what he wants. “We’ve got two weeks, give or take. Let me pretend.”

//

God, that hurts – more than Jiho thought it could. How can he articulate that – that every touch, every look, was truth? He may have lied about everything else (his job, his hobbies, his studies, his family) but everything that transpired between him and Kyung? That was realer than anything Jiho had ever experienced before.

But he knows it’s not the time or place, and even if he did protest Kyung wouldn’t believe him anyway, so he plasters a fake smile on his face – wanting to die, internally – and reaches out to touch Kyung on the face gently, lovingly, trying to communicate, through touch, that he really does love Kyung. God, that word scares him, but it’s the truth, and it’s about time he started facing the music.

“Sure,” he whispers, scootching closer on the bed, throwing his arm over Kyung’s waist, kissing him on the forehead. “Sure.”

He vows internally to himself that before they leave this place, he’ll tell Kyung the truth (“I love you, Park Kyung” – the words frighten him to even think). If they depart after this, and never see each other again, he will at least know that he’s told the truth, that he has nothing to hide.

//

Kyung lets his eyes fall shut when Jiho leans in closer to kiss him.  _ Too easy _ , he thinks for the umpteenth time. It’s almost terrifying how much Kyung would give in if Jiho’d wanted to go on forever. But as it is, he’s already making an embarrassing request. This, on top of the fact that Jiho’d saved Kyung’s life thrice now, meant that Kyung owed him. That even if they parted ways, some of Kyung would always be tethered to Woo Jiho.

He just needed to figure out a way to be fine with that.

“You’re good,” Kyung murmurs, but he doesn’t specify as to what he’s referring to. And it’s all of them, really—fighting, fucking, holding this… thing between them together like it means something. And then he’s leaning up to kiss the scratches he’d made on Jiho’s shoulder and arm tenderly, making his way up to Jiho’s neck. “Right, I’m gonna shower. There’s soap, right?”

And then he’s pushing himself off the bed, feeling a little woozy and lightheaded still, but fucked out, satiated, and ironically, the most content he’d been in the past two weeks. He touches his bandage as he exits the room, wondering exactly how he’s going to assess whatever the hell’d happened, so the comment he throws away over his shoulder almost sounds like an afterthought: “Wanna come along?”

//

Jiho follows Kyung, because of course he does – he’s stuck in Kyung’s orbit, couldn’t escape even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t, of course. “I have to change your dressing,” he reminds Kyung gently, snagging his hand and clasping their fingers close. 

They head to the bathroom together, Kyung turning on the water while they both shiver in the cold air, waiting for it to warm up. Jiho can’t stand the way Kyung stands like that – with his arms clasped around himself, his teeth chattering – so he pulls him close to his chest and wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on Kyung’s head and trying to avoid the last time they’d shivered like this, on a rooftop bathed in moonlight.

“You feel the cold so easily,” Jiho half-heartedly complains, reaching out to stick his hand under the water to see if it’s hot yet. 

//

Kyung freezes the moment Jiho puts his arms around him; has to forcibly remind himself that he asked for this. It’s still a weird amalgamation of feelings—of doubt and of want, to want to believe but of being scared to believe. This wasn’t even a problem anymore, since Jiho’d basically just agreed to partake in this delusion. It’s okay. It’s only for two weeks. Fourteen days.

“Maybe it’s a ploy,” Kyung jokes, draping his arms around Jiho’s waist, and then presses two fingers to some of Jiho’s bruising, raising a questioning eyebrow in a bid to quell his rampant thoughts. If he wants to buy into this, he needs to stop  _ thinking _ about buying into this. “This. What the hell is this?” 

It’s a quid-pro-quo thing, Kyung realizes: he gets whatever kind of fucked up catharsis he’s looking for, Jiho gets laid and they’re both saved from the awkwardness of having to dance around each other.

//

Jiho winces as Kyung pokes him in the ribs, catching Kyung’s hand and bringing it to his lips instead. “It’s from fighting. I did a lot of it in those two weeks,” he mumbles into Kyung’s palm, closing Kyung’s fingers like he’s giving Kyung something precious to hold.

He turns away to find that the water has warmed up now, and is steaming up the bathroom considerably. He watches Kyung get in carefully – him slipping over and re-injuring his head would be the  _ last _ thing they need right now – before joining him, closing the shower curtain behind them. 

“Don’t get your head wet,” he nods, handing Kyung the cake of soap that’s been here for god-knows-how-long. 

And then he’s pulling Kyung in for a quick kiss simply because he  _ can _ , because he knows this is the end of the road for them and he wants to make the most of it – carpe diem, or whatever. It’s hardly his life motto (vive memor leti is probably more appropriate) but there’s no time like the present. 

//

“It’s not bad, is it?” Kyung asks, immediately but unintentionally defying Jiho’s instructions when he touches his bandages with a wet hand, feeling for whatever the hell had happened there. Save for the sudden spark of pain that hits when he presses in a little too hard, he can barely feel it, although  _ now _ it’s throbbing in wake of his jab. He’s distracted by the pain when Jiho draws him in for a kiss, a fast one, a chaste one, and where Jiho pulls away after that to fiddle with the water taps. 

Kyung swallows and tells himself it’s just the oxycontin that has him feeling light-headed, now. “This looks like it’s going to poison us,” Kyung he says instead, waving the bar of soap in the air. It’s a shade that Kyung’s never seen on a soap bar before, unless they were one of those organic, made from crushed leaves shit. “Come here, lemme try it on you first—” And then he’s lathering up the soap bar (and cringing at the fact that suds are, somehow, not completely white), then rubs his hand on the front of Jiho’s chest while biting on the inside of his cheek, careful to go gentle over all of his bruises.

//

“Technically, it will only poison us if we eat it,” Jiho starts, but shuts his inner geek up at the mock-glare Kyung gives him. “I’ll buy a new bar when I go shopping tomorrow.”

It doesn’t seem absurd to him that it’s around 4 am and they’re doing this, because he has long-since adapted to being able to sleep anywhere, any time – but he wonders if Kyung’s suddenly going to fall over from sleepiness, so he takes the soap and starts rubbing it on Kyung’s chest instead, not worrying about himself. 

“It’s not that bad,” Jiho replies a moment later, spinning Kyung around so he can get to his back, referring to his head wound, the bandage staring him in the face. “It’s just a small cut, but head wounds bleed a lot, unfortunately. You’re lucky your concussion isn’t worse.”  _ You’re also lucky you’re not dead _ , he thinks, but bites the side of his cheek – it won’t do to bring death in here, in their little oasis of soap suds and hot water. 

//

“You’re going shopping?” Kyung asks; he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. It’s not like they can stay holed up here and live on dust and water. Judging from the state of the kitchen, Kyung’s gonna have to get inventive with ice cubes if they want to live, and he’s a  _ math _ major, not a science major. All thoughts of trying to concoct some kind of food from ramen flavouring leaves him when Jiho starts slathering him with soap and he practically melts, trying not to stare dopily at Jiho’s hands on him. 

“It doesn’t even feel like a concussion,” Kyung says, suddenly realizing that he didn’t know what had gone down, that he didn’t continue with his line of questioning earlier. Worst of all, he doesn’t know if he  _ should _ . They’re comfortable like this, acting out some semblance of normalcy. Or at least, Kyung is. He doesn’t know what Jiho’s thinking, except for the fact that he’s probably getting sick of rescuing Kyung’s sorry ass. “But in case there’s a next time… can you—uh, teach me how to do it? Fighting, I mean.”

He’s never been in a physical altercation before—threw a few punches in grade school and middle school, but those were playground brawls that essentially meant nothing except a detention slip. He’s never even been in one bad enough to warrant suspension, because that’s what Kyung was.  _ Is _ . Straight-laced, the class favourite. Jiho, on the other hand, has muscles honed from, presumably, years of beating people up. It strikes Kyung again just how different they were, that perhaps Jiho had chosen Kyung not only because he’s easy, but because he’d been at the right time, at the right place, too. The thought has him paling considerably, so he’s glad for all the steam billowing around them.

//

Jiho’s hands still on Kyung’s back, and he pauses, a weird feeling of dread wreathing him like the steam. He doesn’t know if he  _ likes _ the idea of teaching Kyung to fight, because – well, Kyung’s not violent. Kyung is  _ soft _ , and Jiho is the yin to his yang. But they both know he would do anything for Kyung so he leans down and props his head on Kyung’s shoulder, wondering how the physical motions can feel so right while he’s so torn up inside, knowing that this isn’t real. 

“You want me to teach you how to fight?” he rumbles in Kyung’s ear, sliding his arms around Kyung’s waist and tugging him gently backwards so their bodies are flush. “I mean, sure. If you think it will help.”

It only just sinks in that Kyung had said  _ in case there’s a next time _ , and his hopes flare for a moment before dying down again. He hadn’t meant  _ a next time _ with Jiho, because he’s not sticking around – he’d meant  _ a next time _ with violence. He sags in disappointment but brushes Kyung’s neck with a kiss in the same breath, wondering how long he can take these gestures of affection under false pretenses before snapping.

//

He can’t tell if Kyung’s affection is something Jiho needs or if he’s just playing his part or if it’s some frankensteinesque combination of the two. Kyung’s opinion would lean towards the latter, but then he’d remember Jiho hyperventilating on the church steps, his face crumpled up like he’s trying to shrink into himself, like he’s trying to run away from whatever’s in his head, and Kyung’s opinion would immediately tip to the other side. So he draws his arms around Jiho now, barely suppressing a shiver when Jiho whispers in his ear. Tightens his hold as he turns his face into Jiho’s hair, smelling of the dodgy soap bar and sweat and the woodsy smell permeating the entire house. 

“Can’t have you saving my ass all the time,” Kyung says quietly. But what he means is that there’ll be another time and another place where Jiho might not be there and Kyung would be  _ alone _ and as much as things are shit right now, Kyung doesn’t have a particular desire to die. “And what happens if you need  _ me _ to save  _ you? _ ” He pulls back then, kneading the back of Jiho’s neck carefully with the pads of his fingers as he meets his eyes, grinning softly. “I can scream  _ really _ loudly, but that’s about it.”

//

Jiho laughs, closing his eyes and relaxing into Kyung’s touch. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m a good teacher, but I’m not  _ that _ good.” he teases. “But yes, I can teach you how to kick ass. As best your short self is able to, anyway.”

He laughs as Kyung half-heartedly smacks him, sending soap suds flying everywhere. “Come on,” he smirks, squeezing Kyung’s waist. “We’re starting to prune up.”

//

“And whose fault is it to start clinging to me instead of washing?” Kyung questions loudly, wonderingly. But he reaches for the showerhead to rinse them both off, anyway. The bruises are distracting, he realizes, now that they’re both standing in nothing but their birthday suits. That must hurt, but he hasn’t heard Jiho complaining a single word about it, and he wonders how accustomed to this sort of pain Jiho must be. The thought has him darting up to kiss Jiho on the cheek, just a little shyly, then he turns off the taps to usher Jiho out of the shower.

He doesn’t bother with a towel, so he’s basically standing dripping wet as he examines his face in the mirror. One side of his jaw is heavier than the other, stiff, but not exactly painful. The bandage around his head, though Jiho said not to get it wet—had been soaked with the steam, and when he tries to get a look around the back of his head, he spots a gash of maroon that he finds more fascinating than sickening.

“Gonna fix me up, nurse?” he asks, whirling around to face Jiho now, looking resplendent as the water drips down from his skin like some kind of godamn commercial. Kyung has to keep his eyes fixed onto Jiho’s to keep them from wandering. “I hope you have proper training."

//

“For what it’s worth, I do have basic medical training,” Jiho replies, handing Kyung a towel from the rack and taking the other one for himself, wrapping it around his waist hastily. “So stay there.”

He walks back down the hall into the bedroom, where his duffel bag is  _ still _ laying – and at the bottom, mixed with all the pills, is his little bag of bandages and antiseptic that he’d set aside especially for Kyung. Grabbing it, he heads back into the bathroom to find Kyung craning his neck to try and see the injury in the mirror.

“Stand still,” he tuts, smacking Kyung’s hand gently as he reaches up to touch the bandage.

Jiho unwraps the bandage carefully, peeling away the sterile pads he’d pressed to the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t so deep that it needed stitches; it’s been years since he’d done any, and he wasn’t any good at them even then. The wound is looking healthy – well, as healthy as it can be, considering it’s a hole in Kyung’s head, but there’s no pus. He pours some antiseptic on it carefully, dabbing it on with cotton wool, and then tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at it.

“Do you want the bandage on, or not? It’s scabbed over now, so it’s fine to be in the open if you want it to be,” he asks, raising his eyes to see Kyung looking at him through the mirror. “Although you do look kinda cute with it on.” 

//

It’s another thing Kyung has to add to his ever-growing list of facts about Jiho (new edition) and as always, one fact leads to ten more questions that Kyung has to suppress as he watches Jiho work his hands over the back of Kyung’s head, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, like this was some sort of rocket science. It  _ stings _ , and Kyung isn’t used to injuries like this. His hands curl over the edge of the sink as he tries not to make a sound and is proud that he succeeds. 

“Yeah? You like it?” he answers Jiho, turning around to face him properly. He takes Jiho’s hands in his, drawing him over just that slightest bit of distance as he grins, but it’s hard trying to look teasing when it feels like there’s a hole burning through the back of your head and the painkillers are  _ rapidly _ wearing off. “Anything for you.”  _ Shit _ , Kyung thinks, and quickly backpedals. “Wrap my whole face up if you want to.”

He’s probably being a little over-sensitive and has to constantly remind himself that this  _ isn’t that deep _ , that Jiho probably isn’t thinking about it as much as he is. It’s a one-way street, still, or he has to keep thinking it is before he accidentally gets lost forever. 

“Let’s skip it,” Kyung finally concludes, suddenly feeling awkward. He hates it, hates that he has to hesitate and choose his words when he didn’t have to, before. So he lifts both their hands and starts leading Jiho along, blinding walking his way backwards and out. “I don’t think it’ll play well in public when we go out tomorrow.”

//

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jiho asks, scrunching up his face, reading the awkwardness in the way Kyung walks him backwards and down the hall. “I don’t…” he drags his hand across his face, his heart sinking as he realises, for the first time, just exactly how much danger they’re in. “I’m probably not on the best terms with the Organisation at the moment. I’ve killed… four of my brothers. They’re almost certainly looking for us together.”

_ You’re a liability _ , is what he’s trying to say.  _ I brought you here to protect you, so let me do my job. I don’t want you to get hurt _ . Guilt settles over him like a blanket as he realises that it’s too late for that – Kyung’s already gotten hurt by being with him, and not just physically, either. He’s such a fucking black hole, all he does is suck the life and joy and happiness out of people; he can read it on Kyung’s face now that he knows the truth – it’s  _ different.  _

//

_ Brothers _ , Kyung thinks, and wonders how attached Jiho is to this Organisation. He’d claimed he’d known nothing, but you don’t dedicate your life to  _ something _ that doesn’t, in the end, mean nothing to you. Kyung doesn’t know what to make of it, but he does know that Jiho looks stressed, and if he can fix it… well, Kyung’s finding out just how much he’s willing to do for Woo Jiho.

They step over the threshold of the bedroom and Kyung tugs Jiho sharply closer, placing Jiho’s arms around him so he can hook his own around Jiho’s neck as he looks up at him. It’s trust he feels, it’s a sense of knowing that, regardless of what Jiho might’ve said in the past, or might’ve  _ not _ said, Kyung still trusts him to do what’s right. Not necessarily what’s morally correct—because then he wouldn’t work for some sort of backdoor extermination program—but what’s right for Kyung. Honestly, Kyung’s watched enough movies to know whose hands he should place his life in.

It’s not like he has any other choice anyway.

“Okay,” he says obligingly. He doesn’t want to talk about this, doesn’t want to talk about the danger hot on their heels; he’s only got two weeks and for now, he just wants to be selfish. “It’s your call. I mean, I know it’s hard to miss me in a crowd, whereas for you…” Kyung cards his fingers through Jiho’s hair, carefully working out the tangles. If he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to forget how Jiho looks with his blonde hair,  _ this _ is going to be even harder. “… okay, I’m wrong, you’re kinda hard to miss in a crowd too. I have good taste.”

//

“I could shave it off, if you’d like,” Jiho replies, his hands tracing lazy circles on Kyung’s back. “I think I’d look quite good like that.”

He sees Kyung’s expression of horror and laughs, tipping back his head. He could never shave his hair off; he likes it long too much, because sometimes he can hide behind it like a curtain and pretend the world isn’t there. Besides, Kyung likes it, and that’s enough of a reason for him. 

He can see dawn beginning to filter in through the windows and the sight of it sets him yawning; he’s really fucking tired, still, and he doesn’t know when he became so damn vampiric, but whatever. He’ll stay awake for the whole two damn weeks if he has to, as to not miss a moment with Kyung; he’s ever-aware of how time can slip through one’s fingers. 

“Come on,” he whispers, tugging Kyung over to the bed and slipping underneath the covers, waiting for him to do the same. He’s still only wearing a towel, but it’s not like it fucking  _ matters _ … And honestly, he just wants to lie here for a while, with Kyung in his arms, and forget the rest of the world exists. 

//

Kyung’s not quite as tired as Jiho looks, but that’s probably because he’d spent the most of today unconscious. Involuntarily, but it counts anyway. Still, he crawls in next to Jiho and settles in the space that Jiho’d made for him. He’s immediately pulled closer, like some sort of overgrown teddy bear, and he guesses that’s not quite a far off analogy. In the end, as fast and deadly and indestructible as Jiho might’ve seemed, he’s still human, so Kyung wiggles a little to make room for him to shift up to kiss Jiho’s forehead lingeringly, a thank you for all the things he can’t say.

He pretends to sleep then, just so he can listen to Jiho’s heartbeat, to Jiho’s breathing slow down. And it doesn’t take long before Jiho’s out like a light. Kyung spends a few long moments watching Jiho, his features illuminated by the golden light of the very early morning. It makes him look ethereal, even if his hair’s no longer golden. A different kind of ethereal, one more representative of who he is—both black and white at the same time, both good and bad.

Then carefully, he slips out of Jiho’s hold to pad over to the other room to search for his bag and his phone. He’s left Jaehyo with a lot of questions but it really doesn’t seem quite fair to just leave it as that. And he’s right—he turns his phone on to a barrage of phone calls and texts. Mostly from Jaehyo, at first, and then later a couple of texts from Taeil as well. They’re a variety of threatening, and then concerned, and then back to threatening again, but the general gist is this:  _ if your ass isn’t home in the next few weeks, we’re calling the SWAT team _ . It makes him feel warm and he has to restrain himself from replying because technically, yeah, he did get injured, and he’s pretty fucked right now. At least this’ll make one hell of a story, he thinks, as he thumbs through the messages slowly.


	11. Chapter 11

Jiho opens his eyes to find sunlight filtering in a window, past dusty old curtains, in an unfamiliar room, and shoots upright – has a moment of panic, struggling with the sheets that have wound themselves around his feet, before he remembers where he is and stops, breathing heavily.

The pain hits him a moment after, sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. Why had he  _ agreed _ to this stupid fucking scheme? Now that he’s had some sleep he realises exactly how fucking painful it is to pretend that everything’s all right between them. It’s not some glorious last hurrah, it’s just peeling off a band-aid slowly, and he should march out there right now and tell Kyung to knock it off because Jiho can’t keep  _ touching _ him if Kyung isn’t  _ his _ .

But, of course, he won’t. Because the same thing that’s killing him is also giving him life, and even if he has to have Kyung like this – under false pretences, every touch a lie – it’s better than not having him at all. 

“Kyung?” he calls, swinging his legs out of bed and realising he’s still naked, hating how his voice sounds small and slightly fearful, like Kyung left him while he was sleeping (not that he could blame him if he did).

//

Jiho’d basically warned him not to go outside, so Kyung settles for pulling up a chair at the kitchen window, propping his feet up onto the sink as he watches the sky colour a brilliant red. He’s lived in the city all his life, with the rare vacations off to beachside towns. Nothing fancy; they could never have afforded fancy, anyway, what with three kids and his dad being a pastor. The place reminded him of his highschool graduation trip with Jaehyo and Taeil and a bunch of their other friends—they’d spent all night at a beach house and scared themselves stupid in the forestry nearby.

It seems like a far away memory now, least because it’s been two years since its occurrence. But because now, Kyung’s life suddenly seems unsure, his carefully planned future thrown into the dark. And its place comes Jiho. Kyung doesn’t know which one he wants more.

He must’ve been more tired than he’d expected, because he slumps asleep like that, feet up and arms crossed over his front, chin digging into his chest in a way that’s going to give him a sore neck later in the day. It’s not until he hears the sound of his name that he startles awake, nearly toppling over onto the ground in his haste to get up. Right. Not in his room. Not in a beachhouse like he’d been dreaming of, but in hiding hole with Jiho.

“I’m here!” he calls out, clearing his throat as he gets up, yawning and padding out of the kitchen to meet Jiho halfway. “Fell asleep in there and I—” Jiho’s look of worry shuts Kyung up entirely. He wants to comfort him, maybe say something along the lines of  _ I’m here, always here _ . But what comes out of his mouth instead is a mostly cheery, “Morning, you look like shit.”

//

“Gee, thanks,” Jiho replies, not really offended but frowning exaggeratedly as he pulls his shirt over his head and tugs Kyung close to kiss him on the forehead. “Same to you. What did you get up to when I slept? What’s the goddamn time anyway?”

Not waiting for an answer, he heads into the kitchen to peer out of the window, and sees that the sun is nearly directly overhead; it’s almost noon, so he’d slept for a good five or six hours. He still has to go to the shops to get them food, lest they starve – which, given the dismal situation in the cupboards and fridge, is likely. He reaches for a glass to stick it under the tap and take a long drink, his mind ticking over.

“Will you be alright here when I’m gone? I won’t be gone for more than an hour or so,” he says, turning around and leaning against the sink, watching Kyung hover in the doorway. “Think you can keep yourself out of trouble for that long?”

//

_ I’m not the one looking for trouble, _ Kyung thinks but doesn’t say aloud. The kitchen is quiet, and Jiho’s lit up by the bright sunlight; it’s a sight that has Kyung gravitating towards Jiho a little mindlessly as he slides his arms around Jiho’s waist and grins up at him in a way he hopes looks more mysterious than ridiculous.  _ But it’s hard to resist when trouble looks  _ this _ good. _

It’s impossible to pick through what’s real and what’s not real with Jiho, especially when all they’ve done is build a house of cards that’d blown up spectacularly two weeks ago. But this worry, this concern, Kyung’s starting to believe that it’s genuine, and not only because Jiho feels responsible for Kyung in the way you felt responsible if you walked into an alley and found a homeless puppy.

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?” he asks, but it’s a largely facetious question, one he’s saying just to be contrary, just so he can watch Jiho make a face. And then Kyung’s kissing him again—slowly, this time, a good morning kiss if there ever was one, his hand warm and firm on Jiho’s jaw, angling his head down towards Kyung. 

He’s careful not to let it grow into something more, though, because he’s  _ hungry _ and they need soap that isn’t something that looks like it’s older than Kyung.

//

If Jiho could suspend time he would, because God – kissing Kyung is addicting, even when it’s just a simple and pure and easy like this, just kissing for the sake of kissing and nothing more. When they pull apart, somewhat reluctantly, Kyung is wearing an easy smile on his face that looks so fucking  _ good _ there that Jiho’s stomach does a little flip.

“Okay,” he breathes, kissing the tip of Kyung’s nose and squeezing his arms gently. “I’ll be off, then.”

It doesn’t take him long to get his shit together, and Kyung watches him slip a knife in his boot, tug his holster over his head, with measured eyes that don’t reveal what he’s thinking. They say goodbye somewhat awkwardly, Jiho knowing he must look different dressed all in black and armed to the teeth – he must look like the enemy. So he settles for winking at Kyung before heading out to the garage and backing the car out, driving off with a squeal of tyres, his mind racing at a million miles an hour with – of all the mundane things – a goddamn shopping list that Kyung had requested. 

As he drives, the sorrow washes over him again, unavoidable and omnipresent. He  _ loves _ having Kyung close like this, but hates it, too; it’s painful in the sweetest and worst way, and he wishes, more than anything, that he could rewind time back to the aquarium… Back when they’d been in their own little world, high on nothing but orgasms and love – the image of Kyung, bathed in the pale blue filtered light of the fish tanks, floats in his mind no matter how many times he blinks to try and get it away – and it stays with him even as he parks, looking around carefully for any suspicious vehicles, and heads inside to the store.

//

Kyung’s struck by a sudden sense of helplessness the moment the door closes behind Jiho. Because what if Jiho’s about to disappear and never come back? He’s literally in the middle of nowhere, smack dab in an adventure that’s more of a nightmare than it is thrilling, and his only one safety net had just walked out to the door, armed with as many weapons as a small rescue team probably needed. 

_ Get it together _ , he tells himself as he turns back into the empty house, now tauntingly large. Here’s another place he’s always going to have memories of Jiho with; it seems like the more he tries to erase, the more it starts to smudge instead.  _ That’s not what’s important _ , he tries to tell himself, sucking in a deep breath. The important thing is  _ not dying _ , and the best way to do that is to stick to Jiho’s side, along with all his guns. 

But he knows that’s not quite it either.  _ You love him _ , something whispers in his head. Great. To add on to the shitshow that’s currently running, he’s apparently in a conflict with himself.  _ That’s not the point either _ , he argues back. Because in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter what he feels for Jiho; their lives are incompatible, that even if Kyung can move on from Jiho’s past, Jiho’s past might not be able to leave them alone.

God, his head hurts. So much that it forces him into squatting on the spot as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember that passing out would be a very, very bad thing. That given everything else that’d happened, he doesn’t need a second injury. So he gives it a moment, then two, then he treks back upstairs in search for Jiho’s bag and spends a full minute debating whether or not to rummage through it. The pain eventually wins out and he unzips the bag to poke around in it. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that it mostly consists of clothes and not weaponry—though Kyung supposes Jiho’s wearing all of his weaponry now—some snacks, and Jiho’s sketchbook. It almost looks as though he’d been packing for an overseas vacation instead of a getaway.

He can’t help himself from reaching for the sketchbook, figuring that if Jiho’d allowed him to open it the first time, he basically has free access to it now. The first few pages are the same from before, bringing Kyung straight back to another time and another place, when they could easily press up against each other on the couch without all this baggage trying to drown them. Which isn’t true either; Kyung may not have had anything weighing him down, but Jiho did. And Jiho’d drawn Kyung, had shown Kyung all his drawings… with the intention of what? Kyung can only draw a blank over as his fingertip runs over the line of his penciled nose. 

He flips the page and—all the drawings here are ones he’d yet to see. They seemed to all be sketched in one sitting, judging from how thematically similar they are: cars and trees and apartment buildings, the sun peeking over the horizon, bathing everything in a colour that Kyung can’t discern when it’s shaded in granite, the world behind the bars of Jiho’s balcony. And then there’s Kyung. He’d tried to keep count at first, tried to measure the number of times Jiho’d thought about Kyung and put that thought into pencil. It doesn’t work because there’re too many; does it count as a thought if all he is is the curve of his fingers over Jiho’s tattooed bicep? Or the dip of his pelvic bone made recognizable by the mole on his belly? The aquarium drawings had presumably turned to dust in the crossfire at Jiho’s apartment, but here Kyung is now, sitting luminous in front of an unseen light. It’s almost a complete replicate, if not for the lack of shitty coloured pencils. 

It’s hard for Kyung to reconcile this Jiho and the Jiho he’d just seen strap three different types of knives to his boots. It’s hard for Kyung to reconcile this Jiho and the Jiho he’d seen with blood spattered across his face like it’s a regular Sunday evening for him. And in that distance between knowing and understanding grow the seeds of doubt that has Kyung snapping the sketchbook shut. 

None of this is a pretense, though—Jiho hadn’t drawn all that with the intention of having Kyung look at it and fall even harder. He’s surprised that he hasn’t hit rock bottom yet, honestly, considering his circumstances. It’s with more confusion than understanding that he shoves Jiho’s sketchbook back into his bag and retrieves the paracetamol instead, going to the bathroom to down the pills in one go. And then, with nothing left to do and too much to think about, he goes exploring.

//

Jiho is back to his pre-Kyung state (and really, it’s become a proper date in his head: Before Kyung and After Kyung, not dissimilar to BC and AD) of paranoia and checks, checks and more checks. He sits in the car for a good twenty minutes, as much as it kills him – he wants to be  _ out _ there and  _ doing _ instead of watching (reconnaissance was  _ really _ never his strong suit) but he also wants to keep them both alive, so he sits and watches the comings and goings of people in and out of the store.

Because they’re so far out in the middle of nowhere, he’d had to drive a good hour or so to the nearest town; he doesn’t want to be gone long, but the distance from civilisation is a good thing, he supposes. After his time’s up, though, he gets out of the car cautiously, and heads into the shop, clenching his teeth at the bright lights and crowds of people. Grabbing a shopping basket and then promptly realising that won’t be enough and grabbing a trolley instead, he runs over the list in his head, and starts walking towards the meat aisle, muttering under his breath like a crazy person.

**

By the time Jiho’s loading his shopping in the boot of the car (disappointingly, a normal silver Toyota Corolla that is so slow it  _ pains _ him to drive), he’s a ball of nerves, and spends the entire drive back to the house speeding and chewing on a thumbnail, wondering how many straws it’s gonna take for the camel’s back to break. The camel, in this case, is him, and the straws are every touch, every kiss – every _ thing _ that Kyung does in the name of love that’s false. He honestly feels that maybe he’s going slowly insane, like all the death he’s brought has finally touched his mind.

He does a spectacular handbrake turn into the wide front drive of the house, spraying gravel all over the windows with satisfying tinkling sounds, before getting out of the car as fast as his legs can take him and heading inside, closing the door quietly behind him as he calls, “Kyung?”, and gets no reply.

His mind races with all the possibilities – the Organisation could have come, Kyung could have fallen over and injured himself further, or he could be dead, or – fuck. He draws his gun and creeps through the house silently, finding no trace of Kyung in the kitchen or bathroom or on the back porch, either. It’s only until he has the bright idea to check the bedroom that he finds him, sleeping sprawled out in bed, snoring softly.

Jiho puts his gun away and unbuckles his holster, pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor with a quiet  _ thunk _ . Carefully, he slides into bed next to Kyung and touches his face wonderingly, amazed at how fucking beautiful he looks when he sleeps – in fact, he looks like Kyung Pre-Jiho, before violence and death touched him, as it does everyone in Jiho’s life.

//

Kyung startles awake at Jiho’s touch; he hadn’t been sleeping properly, anyway, just a quick nap because he’d run out of things to do. The house was large and dusty but it’s fine, they weren’t going to be living here the whole time. Each room was sparsely furnished, the same way a motel would, and Kyung has to wonder if Jiho picked out these things for himself. 

“You’re back,” Kyung says, but it comes out like a dry whisper. So he clears his throat and closes his eyes, turning his face towards Jiho’s touch, like a sunflower growing towards the sun. “How were the shops? I tried to get some cleaning done, I swear.” 

When he opens his eyes again, Jiho’s expression is still the same—he looks at Kyung like Kyung’s some kind of mirage in a desert, and Jiho’s hungry for respite. It aches because Kyung doesn’t know how much of it is real, how much he can  _ trust _ when his own instincts’d fucked him up the first time. Once bitten, twice shy, he reminds himself, but covers Jiho’s hand with his as Kyung kisses his way down his palm anyway.

//

“They were busy,” Jiho replies a little breathlessly, Kyung’s kisses sending shivers up his spine. “But I didn’t see anything suspicious.”

He closes his eyes and just lies there for a moment, feeling the sunlight hit his back, feeling Kyung’s palm in his, not wanting to move and break the moment – before reluctantly sliding off the bed and heading for the door, looking back at Kyung as he goes. “I’ll bring the shopping in,” he calls back over his shoulder, wondering when the fuck they got so falsely domestic.

They team up, Jiho bringing in the armfuls of plastic bags and depositing them on the kitchen table while Kyung puts the food away in the cupboards and fridge, until the kitchen actually looks liveable and full and not like they’re going to starve. He’s brought too much stuff, probably, but most of it is tinned so he can just leave it here for the next time he needs his place (which, knowing the shitshow his life is, he probably  _ will _ need to use it sometime in the future).

He grabs a juice box from the fridge and tosses one to Kyung, poking a hole with his straw and sucking gleefully, aware he probably looks like an overgrown child – if Kyung’s incredulous expression is anything to go by. He grins back happily and says, around the straw, “wanna start now? With the fighting thing, I mean?” 

//

Jiho’s bought more non-perishables than fresh food which can only mean that he has plans for this place long after Kyung is gone. He doesn’t ask, though, because he’s long learnt by now that some questions are off-limits. And besides, he’s having a great day—Jiho’s light and airy and grins at him when they brush against each other as they make their way around the kitchen, trying to find homes for all the tins and packets of food.

He catches the juice box with only minimal fumbling and snorts when he sees the garish, cartooned drawing on the front.  _ Of course _ it is. And then he looks up to see Jiho’s  _ lips _ wrapped around that straw and— yeah, the cartoon thing fades out pretty damn quickly. He turns around and shoves the last tin can into the cupboard before slamming it shut, then busies himself with poking his own straw into his juicebox.

“Got a plan?” Kyung asks, making a face at how tart the juice tastes. He turns and props his elbows up on the kitchen table to face Jiho and is struck by how  _ normal _ he looks despite being a mobile arsenal. How many things had he carried the first they’d met? And all the times after that? “Or are you gonna pull a karate kid on me?”

//

Jiho laughs and crumples up his now-empty juice box in his fist, shaking his head. “No, we’re gonna get right into it. I’m going to teach you how to throw a proper punch.”

It’s the obvious choice, really, considering he’s been on the receiving end of one of Kyung’s punches before and it hadn’t hurt him in the slightest – whereas Kyung’s still sporting the fallout from a punch from one of his brothers. Taking Kyung’s hand, he leads him out the back door, down the porch steps and into the little clearing of a backyard, the woods pressing at their back somewhat ominously. 

He gestures to himself theatrically, and winks at Kyung. “Punch me.”

Kyung just gapes at him, juice box in hand, and Jiho grins, grabbing Kyung’s hand and curling it into a fist gently. “Go on. Punch me as hard as you can in the face. I promise you won’t hurt me.”

He tries to forget the last time that Kyung had done this there was genuine malice behind his blow, and hopes that this time will be different, even if he deserves the same. 

//

Jiho’s shit-eating grin has Kyung rolling his eyes. He’s pretty sure this is an insult on his person, but Kyung has never had cause to punch another person in his life before. He’s a pacifist (mostly), and a staunch believer of talking his way out of things. That, he’s really good at. Then again, the person who’d ambushed him outside of his dorm room had been more of a punch-then-talk kinda person, so maybe it’s time he re-evaluated his policies.

“There’s no way I’m punching  _ you _ ,” Kyung insists, snatching his hand back from Jiho. It’d hurt when he punched him the first time, anyway. His knuckles had throbbed for ages after and Jaehyo had laughed at him every time he thought Kyung wasn’t looking. And besides, he hadn’t been thinking when he threw his fist at Jiho that first time, blinded with nothing but rage and disappointment. 

But Jiho keeps standing there, silent and smug, with his arms crossed challengingly, so Kyung sets his juice box on the ground and sets his feet apart. He’d taken exactly one self-defense class back in highschool. Or, well, he’d sat in one self-defense class where they took turns trying to throw each other around, but then they’d bailed in favour of grabbing an early lunch because they never thought they’d have use for it in their lives. Ever.

Now, though, he balls his hand into a fist and looks up at Jiho. Right. He can’t do this while  _ looking _ at him, so he closes his eyes and sends his fist flying haphazardly, and it’s really more of a swing of his arm than an actual punch.

//

Jiho sidesteps Kyung’s fist so easily it’s like breathing, sending Kyung off-balance and nearly sprawling in the dirt, saved only by Jiho hooking his hand under Kyung’s elbow and hauling him upright, laughing.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” he laughs, brushing Kyung’s hair back from his face tenderly, before grabbing Kyung’s wrist again. “Like this,” he says gently, curling Kyung’s fingers around into a proper fist. “See? Thumb on the outside. It’ll get broken if it’s on the inside.”

He watches Kyung make a correct fist with his other hand, too, and nods. “When you’re punching someone, you’re not just punching someone with your fist – it’s a whole-body thing, that starts at your feet and just sorta ends up with an explosion of energy,  _ via _ your fist. Look.”

Jiho takes a step back and jabs at the air, his body doing what it has done for three years so damn naturally – rocking back on his heels, squaring up, and then twisting his hips and swinging his torso to send his fist flying forward at nothing. It feels weird, to be deconstructing it like this, but the look of awe on Kyung’s face is worth it.

//

Kyung clenches his fist again and again but no matter how many times he balls it up, it just doesn’t feel like he can do something like—and then he’s distracted by Jiho throwing a punch, his whole body tensed as he moves with a precision that Kyung could never replicate. He’s good at this; Kyung realizes belatedly that’s a stupid thought, because  _ of course _ he’s good at it, he’s been doing it for years. But now, Kyung wants to see Jiho in action, wants to see how he looks when he’s in his element, when he’s fighting to  _ spar _ and not to kill. 

“Okay,” he says, “right.” And then he’s moving next to Jiho to copy his exact posture—fist clenched, arm tensed as he works out exactly how he wants to throw his punch. When he finally does it—feeling a little more than a limp strand of noodle—he can tell that Jiho’s trying his damndest to suppress his amusement.

“Don’t laugh, asshole,” Kyung admonishes, slapping Jiho upside his arm. He’s really not trying to be petty because he knows he’s shit at this, but Jiho’s laughter has him blushing all the way up to his ears anyway. “Let’s see you try to use a tridiagonal matrix algorithm to solve an equation.”

//

“I don’t know what those words mean,” Jiho admits, slinging an arm around Kyung’s shoulder and squeezing him close. “But everyone has their strengths. Yours just lie in… triagonal whatevers. Besides, that one was better. More practice and you’ll be fine.”

He steps away and nods at Kyung to do it again, watching as he flops forward somewhat pathetically. It’s not the worst punch he’s ever seen, though, so he shakes his head and taps Kyung’s elbow, encouraging him to lift it higher this time. The third punch is slightly better, but there’s something still _ off _ about the way Kyung is moving his hips, so Jiho walks to stand behind him and settles his hands on Kyung’s hips, pulling him closer – not unlike a ridiculous porno he’d seen once, involving tennis. “I promise I’m not trying to seduce you…” he whispers in Kyung’s ear cheekily, his nose brushing Kyung’s hair, “but you need to twist your hips like this.” 

He moves their hips together, forcing Kyung forward a step, feeling rather than seeing his fist fly out in front of him, more violently than the last time. “Good,” he says, throatily, in Kyung’s ear – he knows he’s being a shit, but the opportunity is too good to pass up.

//

Kyung’s breath hitches when Jiho presses up behind him, warmly and solidly, manoeuvres his stance into one that’s apparently going to help him hit people better. And it does; he gets it now, feels the tensed power rushing up from his shoulder to his arm as he throws the punch. It’s definitely not as polished as Jiho’s, not even close, but it’s something more than the clenched fist equivalent of a weak slap. 

But now he has a whole new problem because Jiho’s  _ not moving _ and the approval in his ear is low and pleased and Kyung  _ keens _ at that. Somewhere in the more logical, objective part of his mind, he rolls his eyes at himself, but for now, he settles for tipping his head backwards against Jiho’s shoulder to smirk up at him, saying, “Yeah? Do I get a reward?”

And then before Jiho can answer, he has a hand on Jiho’s cheek to turn his face towards Kyung so he can kiss him. Chastely at first, but then a little more heatedly when Jiho starts reciprocating. Melded together like this, in a vast field in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Kyung feels small and insignificant, like he can momentarily forget everything that’s been chasing him for the past two weeks and just focus on  _ Jiho _ .

//

This was a bad idea – not the worst one Jiho’s ever had, but a pretty bad one nonetheless, because now he’s  _ completely _ distracted, lost in the feeling of Kyung’s lips, the way Kyung presses back into him. His hands are still on Kyung’s hips, and as Kyung traces a line along his bottom lip with his tongue, Jiho realises it would be so easy to let his hands drift downwards –

“Punch me,” he gasps, pulling away to stand in front of Kyung and spreading his arms. “Properly, the same way you just punched the air. In the stomach. Go on.”

He probably looks crazy, and he feels it, too – but he’s  _ meant _ to be helping Kyung learn to punch properly, not wanting to fuck him right here on the grass. So he raises his eyebrows at Kyung, an explicit invitation, his chest heaving.

//

The tension hangs thick in the air between them, but it’s the kind that Kyung’s familiar with, the kind that makes him grin as he hunkers down and gets into position. Jiho looks wild, mouth red and eyes wide, like he’s caught in the same whirlwind that has Kyung all messed up. Okay, if Jiho wants this to happen, Kyung never backs down from a challenge. 

His knuckles make a disturbing crunching sound as they pop when his fist connects with Jiho’s stomach, and he recoils immediately because holy  _ shit _ , he might as well’ve punched a solid godamn wall. “If someone comes after me,” Kyung says, too distracted with shaking his hand out to even notice if Jiho’d reacted at all, “I’m gonna lay on the ground and let them shoot me.” 

It’s just not going to work out—Kyung had the muscle definition of a ten year old, honed from late nights at the library and a diet of junk food. There’s no way he’s going to ever match up to another Jiho; he can’t even match to  _ this _ Jiho and he’d literally just asked to be punched.

//

Jiho hadn’t expected Kyung to hit him quite as hard as he did, so he didn’t even tense up in preparation – meaning his hand shoots to his gut immediately, surprised. It’s not the worst punch he’s ever received, but it’s a damn sight better than what Kyung was doing before, and he looks up to see Kyung shaking his hand out and grimacing.

“I think you could be quick if you wanted to,” Jiho laughs, sidling up to Kyung and stretching his arm out so he’s pointing at Jiho, folding his fingers into the shape of a gun. “You could disarm them like this…” quick as a snake, he grabs Kyung’s gun-wrist and forces it back (although a lot more gentler than he would if this was real) against Kyung’s chest, so the ‘gun’ is pointing up uselessly into the air between them. Ignoring the fact that they’re pressed up against each other again, he smiles slyly and squeezes Kyung’s wrist  _ gently _ . “And then you put pressure here, make them drop it.” 

Kyung’s eyes widen, but Jiho doesn’t stop – he’s in work mode, now. “From there, you can kick the gun away and jab them  _ here – _ ” he lays two fingers softly against Kyung’s neck, feeling his pulse racing underneath his fingertips, “ – or punch them –” instead of mock-punching Kyung, he splays his hand on Kyung’s belly, “ – or heatbutt them.”

He realises how they’ve ended up – with Jiho getting into Kyung’s personal space, one hand gripping his wrist, the other pressed flat on Kyung’s stomach, and breathes out slowly, wondering how the fuck they’d ended up like this… And he’s not just talking about here, either.

//

Kyung can only let himself be manoeuvred around as Jiho works out the different ways he can save his own life—twist the gun up here, apply pressure, punch them. He does it with a single-minded focus, an intensity Kyung hadn’t seen even when they’d been fucking, nor when Jiho’d been drawing, nor when Jiho’d actually executed these moves in front of him. 

Then they’re pressed up against each other, Jiho’s mouth hanging slightly open, as if on an afterthought. Kyung doesn’t know what to say either because it feels like the air around them stills almost entirely. Jiho exhales and stays rooted to the spot; Kyung inhales and untangles them both.

It’s quiet again—the easy banter they had going slinks away into the darkness and Kyung just stares at Jiho for a moment. Not for the fact that he’s surprised, any more, he’d long passed that hurdle. He’s thinking  _ what the hell goes on in your head? _ but of course, has enough tact to keep that mostly to himself. He wonders if Jiho sees him and sees a composition of weaknesses, and he wonders if Jiho knows that he already has a hold on Kyung’s achilles heel.

“Shit,” he exhales, for lack of anything else to say. Then he laughs, trying to diffuse the tenseness that’d knotted in him like a ball. “I’m never going to remember all of that. Is there an off button instead?”

//

“Wouldn’t it be easy if there was?” Jiho chuckles, stepping away somewhat shyly, running a hand through his hair. “I’d be out of a job.”

It’s dark, morbid humour – and he doesn’t want to think about that he probably  _ is _ out of a job – so he scuffs a toe into the ground, letting a moment of awkward silence before he looks back up at Kyung. “Seriously, though, that last punch wasn’t bad. You’ll have a good chance of knocking someone out if you you punch them like that in the face.” 

He thinks (he hopes) that this is just a precaution, because the idea of Kyung becoming even a little bit like him hurts to think about. He wants nothing more than to absorb all the good qualities of Kyung – to suck in all the lightness that Kyung emanates from every pore – but the thought of Kyung taking some of his darkness in return has his heart hurting. Although, he supposes, they’re already partway there, aren’t they? This little lesson is proof  in and of itself. The thought of that has him reeling, so he takes a deep breath and holds out his hand to Kyung. “Do you wanna try knives now?”

//

“I’ve tried knives,” Kyung answers just to stall Jiho as he takes his hand. He wanted to learn this so he could sock someone in the face and hurt  _ them _ and not himself, but he’s not learning this because he wants to stab someone. The thought of it alone makes him feel slightly sick and he hopes the way he pales isn’t too obvious. It’s easier to talk about things on the surface, and not this stuff, whatever the hell that had attracted Jiho to this sort of the violence in the first place. He knows he’s weak, he’s playing ignorant, but it’s only for two weeks. After that, he can spend the rest of his life haunted by Woo Jiho, and isn’t that punishment enough? 

“My ex tried to teach me to cook,” Kyung continues, reeling Jiho in closer, so he can slide his arm around Jiho’s waist. “Except the only thing I learnt is that I can’t chop for shit. Don’t think I’m very compatible with sharp things.”  _ Except you _ , Kyung doesn’t add. That’s what Jiho is, in the end, if Kyung removes the shroud of feelings he has, Jiho’s a  _ weapon _ . He talks like that’s all he is too, sometimes, like he’s been sharpened to a hair-thin precision, and that’s all he knows how to be. But Kyung’s seen him drawing, seen him wearing a soft, worn sweater, grinning like there’s nothing that delighted him more.  _ That’s not all you are _ , Kyung thinks, bumping their joint hands up against Jiho’s jaw instead. “Can we go in and eat something? You can show me all your fancy knifework instead. Impress me.”

//

Jiho raises an eyebrow but tugs Kyung back towards the house anyway; the sun is low in the sky, bathing everything in the sort of light that signifies an ending. “I’m better with throwing knives, not using them to chop,” he muses out loud as they re-enter the dusty house. “Although if you pinned the vegetables to the wall…”

He laughs at the look on Kyung’s face and opens the fridge, peering into its depths, unsure. He’s – well, he’s not good at cooking, because he lived off junk food and takeaway for so long, but he’ll do anything for Kyung so he calls over his shoulder, “what do you feel like?”

//

“What did you buy?” Kyung asks sauntering over from where he’d been drinking some water to peer over Jiho’s shoulders. Or, around Jiho’s shoulder, really. There’s a selection of the most mismatched ingredients Kyung’d ever seen in his life, and his cooking repertoire’s limited to only that of the instant or the throw-everything-in-a-pot-and-boil variety. He opts for the latter, making a face at Jiho as he reaches around him to pick out ingredients that he at least recognizes. 

It occurs to him that while his own cooking skills were minimal, Jiho’s probably fell more towards the ‘can’t boil water’ range considering that everything Kyung’d learnt had come from his friends and family, the two types of people Jiho said he didn’t have. So he sets his food down on the counter and snags a pot.

“I guess this is a trade-off for the punching lessons,” Kyung says, handing the pot to Jiho and leans over it to press a quick kiss to Jiho’s cheek. “Fill it with water. About two-thirds, and then— you know how to boil water, right?” Then he’s setting to work to preparing the sausages and tinned spam Jiho’d bought, some of the assorted vegetables and the kimchi flavouring. Jiho hadn’t gotten any rice, which, okay, Kyung can take some of the noodles from his tens of packets of ramen. It’s the sort of meal he’d made hundreds of times in his dorm’s kitchen.

//

“Um,” Jiho replies, sticking the pot under the tap and filling it up, “I think I’ve done it once before?” 

It’s not like his mother had taught him – she was too busy being drunk, or screaming at him and Jiseok, or both – and he had no-one to learn from… So he’d just never learned. He’d  _ read _ about cooking, sure, but as he hauls the pot onto the stove he realises he’s never actually done it before. But he’s learning that there’s always a first time for everything, especially with Kyung, so he pokes at the knobs until he manages to get a flame going on one of them, slamming the pot down on it a bit violently.

Silence falls over the kitchen, but it’s a lovely companionable silence, just the sound of the stove and, over his shoulder, the noises of Kyung chopping vegetables. It’s so quaint and nice that he leans on the bench heavily and closes his eyes, drawing it all in, breathing it in so he’ll never forget.

_ You’re going to lose this _ , he thinks.  _ It will all be gone _ .

He opens his eyes slowly, trying to get rid of the thoughts, but they just swirl around his head dangerously, taunting him. Because it’s not a fucking lie, either, and that’s the worst part – their whole facade has been built on lies upon lies, stacked on top of each other – but this? This is the rawest kind of truth. He turns to ask Kyung if he feels the same – _ do the lies haunt you? _ – and sees that Kyung is fighting a carrot with the bluntest knife he’s ever seen, and laughs.

“Use this,” he says, pulling the knife from his boot and offering it to Kyung, smiling at the incredulous look on Kyung’s face. “It’s clean. I promise. It’s actually new.” 

//

Kyung wrinkles his nose at the knife that Jiho offers, not only because he has to expressly declare that it’d yet to be tainted by human blood, but because it came out of his shoe. He isn’t the cleanest of people, as evidenced by the number of times Jaehyo had hollered at him to clean up after this or that before their room became a biohazardous zone. And yet he’s aware that unless he’s going to cook this carrot whole… taking the knife, he rinses it over thoroughly with just water—because dishwashing soap wasn’t a thing in this house either, apparently—and hands it back to Jiho.

“You do it then,” Kyung says, “I can feel your silent judgment from all the way over there.” And then it’s his turn to watch Jiho get to work, looking down at the carrot as if it perplexed him greatly. “Just go from end to end.” But once he gets to work, he’s actually pretty damn efficient with the knife. More than Kyung is, at least, but that’s not saying much considering that his carrot slices tended to turn out more squarish than circular. 

“Did they teach you this?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s a question he’d wanted to ask since they were standing in the field outside. “In the army, I mean, or maybe—you know—where… you worked.” He sounds stupidly awkward and he wants to kick himself for it. But he can’t help himself; no matter how many times he says this is a show, an act, a  _ lie _ he’d personally requested for, he wants to know more anyway.

//

Jiho falls silent for a moment, scraping the carrot pieces to the side and grabbing another one to start chopping up. He knows Kyung isn’t talking about cutting up carrots, so he takes a deep breath, thinking. “I mean, they taught us basic shit like that in the army, but most of my training came from… Yes, the Organisation.”

He finishes that carrot and grabs another before continuing, a strange bitter taste in his mouth. “They gave me my first mission before I had any formal training, and then after that they shipped me off for a six-month training program.” Jiho doesn’t think or talk about that time much because it was, honestly, one of the worst times of his life, and his brain refuses to go near it – it’s like there’s a great fucking brick wall in his mind that he’s thrown up, behind it lying all the torture and pain and beatings he’d been through, then.

“That’s where I was taught most of the shit I showed you today, and more.” He raises one shoulder in a shrug, feigning nonchalance – but his chops are his tell, and the carrot he’s just finished is less chopped neatly and more mangled into pieces.

//

A horrible sense of guilt washes over Kyung; all this time he’d spent stewing in self-righteous anger and he hadn’t really given a second thought as to what Jiho might’ve experienced to lead him here, saddled with accidental baggage and the organization he worked for throwing darts at his back as though he were wearing a giant bullseye. And worse yet, he distinctly remembers that, in the heat of the moment, he’d accused Jiho of choosing this for himself. 

But he doesn’t say anything in response to Jiho’s answer—because what the hell does one say to something like that?—just busies himself with checking the pot—the water’s bubbling—then cutting open the sachet of flavouring to dump it inside the pot, stirring with a spoon he’d found earlier. It keeps him distracted enough, and keeps his back turned to Jiho so he can keep asking questions without allowing Jiho to see the myriad of faces he makes throughout. 

“When they trained you— was that—” He doesn’t know how to bring up the question at all, doesn’t know if asking this would be crossing the another boundary they had between them, or if it would be a step back. But he wants to know. “—was that when you first killed someone?”

//

Jiho doesn’t flinch, just reaches for the last carrot before starting to speak. “Yep. There was a rumour that my opponent in one of my fights was so injured that he later died in hospital, but I don’t know if that was true, or just bullshit. The first mission I had was the first time… I ever killed someone.” 

When he closes his eyes, he can still see the surprised face of the businessman he’d killed that day, the way he’d scrubbed the floor clean of blood afterwards, delusional and neurotic. He was a completely different person back then, although his decisions that day had set him on this path of no clemency, a path that had changed his life – and not for the better, either. He still doesn’t see what else he could have done, but he’s starting to realise that perhaps doing nothing would have been better than doing… this. 

“Finished with the carrots,” he barks, a bit more harshly than he intended. “What else can I do?”

//

Had Jiho been as scared as Kyung was that night at his apartment? Had Jiho looked at all the blood gleaming,  _ pooling _ and dreamt about it afterwards? Had he woken up to the  _ pop, pop _ sounds of a gun unloading, only to find that it’s 4am and the world is dead asleep? Judging from the tone of Jiho’s voice, Kyung probably shouldn’t press more on the issue. 

“The sausage goes in first, then the vegetables,” Kyung says, tapping the spoon over the edge of the pot so he can point it in the direction of the ingredients he’d cut earlier. It doesn’t feel right to just leave it hanging like that, because for the first time ever, Kyung’s seeing Jiho’s confession for exactly that: a confession. He wonders if Jiho’d ever said this aloud to another person, or if he’d kept it all in this whole time, folding and re-folding the facts of his life until they’re pressed tightly into a box. Which might explain the whole laundromat debacle. “And the carrot’s last. And then… can you come over for a sec?”

//

Jiho closes his eyes for a moment as Kyung’s voice washes over him. Fuck, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that time for a very good reason – he was small and weak back then, and while he’s not claiming he’s strong now… Well, there’s no point lingering in the past. He reopens his eyes to see Kyung looking at him expectantly, so he picks up the chopping board and brings it over to Kyung, holding it in front of him like a tray, completely unsure of what Kyung wants with him. 

“Is this cooking class 101 with Park Kyung?” he teases, bumping Kyung’s elbow with his own, winking playfully.

//

“You can ask that again when you try the stew,” Kyung says, snorting as he shoves the ingredients in one by one, setting the carrots aside, then covers the lid of the pot. He doesn’t really know what he wants to say—it’s more of a  _ need _ to say something that has him twirling around to face Jiho again. He’s smiling now, a 180 degree change from literally two seconds ago, and it strikes Kyung how quickly Jiho can go shifting from one mood to another.

“I just,” he starts, then stops, still holding onto the stupid tray as he stares at a spot beyond Jiho’s head. What the hell is he supposed to say?  _ I wish things would’ve gone differently from you? _ Or _ I wish you could’ve done whatever the hell you wanted instead of whatever the hell this is? _ Because if Kyung had a choice where he could get Jiho to do this all over again, and to do it right, he would. Even if it means that he might not be able to meet Jiho this time around. 

“I’m sorry,” he ends up saying, forcing himself to meet Jiho’s eyes, “for all that has happened to you that you had no control over and I just assumed— I just assumed you did.” If this is still an act—if any of this was a performance staged for a reason Kyung couldn’t grasp, he had ceased caring, probably since the moment he laid eyes on Jiho’s sketchbook this afternoon. Dragging a hand through his hair, Kyung laughs a little self-consciously and adds, “Jesus, I’m shit with apologies.”

//

Jiho nearly falls over when the words tumble out of Kyung’s mouth; he hadn’t expected – nor really felt like he needed – an apology, especially as one as genuine and well-meaning as this. He gapes at Kyung for a second, gormless, completely unsure of what to do.

“Kyung… I mean – fuck. You don’t…” he begins, but shakes his head because he’s lost, floundering. “You don’t have to be sorry. You have nothing to apologise for. I should be the one apologising.”

Because he should, shouldn’t he? It’s  _ he _ who turned Kyung’s life upside-down, not the other way around. It’s  _ he _ who brought death into Kyung’s home. It’s  _ he _ who has dragged Kyung here, out into the middle of nowhere, running away from his demons. It’s  _ he _ who has got Kyung involved in all this, endangered his life – yes, he has many things to apologise for, and many things he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for. 

//

“I can’t believe you’d try and one-up me on this too,” Kyung says, softly, setting the chopping board behind him now that he doesn’t really need it as a shield any more. With his hands now free, he carefully tucks the hair behind Jiho’s ear and grins, just as softly. “Just shut up and let me say it, okay?” 

When it comes down to it, he’s not quite apologizing for the Jiho of the current, anyway. It’s for the Jiho that could’ve been, the Jiho who’d said that he wasn’t good at anything, but then could visualize entire worlds in between the pages of his sketchbook. It’s for the Jiho who said that he didn’t have any friends nor family when he’d started out like this, but then had made friends with Kyung’s as easily as they’d gotten along too. It’s a little presumptuous to mourn the loss of that Jiho, Kyung thinks, especially when he’d seen that Jiho, had met that Jiho, had fallen in love with that Jiho.

“Carrot should be going in now,” Kyung adds, leaning up to kiss Jiho’s temple (why the hell was he so  _ tall? _ ), then busies himself with opening the lid of the pot, wincing at the hot rush of steam that comes rushing out. Given the likelihood for things to turn into shit, recently, at least his stew smells great.

//

Jiho wants to protest – this isn’t one upmanship, this is a genuine apology that needs to be said – but he settles himself and allows Kyung this small thing.  “Okay,” he replies, picking up the carrots and dumping them in, scalding his hands in the hot steam but continuing regardless. “It smells good.”

He wants to make a joke –  _ do you think this will get you laid, too?  _ – but thinking back to that time physically hurts him, somewhere behind his breastbone (calls to image of Kyung’s profile bathed in moonlight, his hand on Jiho’s chest, looking down at him in awe – and it’s just too fucking painful) so he just turns back to the fridge to get them both a drink, wishing things were different. What he would do to go back to that time where he was a liar but Kyung was safe, innocent… 

“Coke, or another juice box?” he asks, grabbing a juice box for himself as he peers into the fridge, hearing the comforting clank of Kyung stirring his stew, the sounds of a home he never had echoing in his ears.

//

“Coke!” Kyung immediately chimes over his shoulder. It doesn’t seem as though Jiho understands what Kyung is trying to get at, and he wishes there were some telepathic way he could tell this to Jiho. Short of sky-writing, Kyung doesn’t know what else to do. 

He concentrates on his stew instead, stirring and making sure that everything’d cooked in the short time it’d been left to bubble; shouldn’t be hard, the paste was supposed to be an instant sort of thing. And really, compared to bullets and concussions, what’s a little raw vegetable?

So he lifts the pot and does the exact same he’d done the night before: sets it on a plate and grabs bowls for them both (a recent discovery he’d made while packing their groceries). This time, he actually does split the food into two and slides in the chair, waiting before Jiho sits down as well before nudging his shin with Kyung’s foot, tapping at his own cheek with an expectant look.

//

Grabbing a can of Coke to complement his juice box, he pulls out the drawer and finds the cutlery he’d bought earlier today; he grabs them both a pair of chopsticks and a spoon each before sitting down to see Kyung tapping his cheek expectantly, his eyebrows raised.

Jiho leans over the table and grasps Kyung’s chin gently, leaning down to kiss him on the lips softly, his finger stroking Kyung’s cheek as he tries to tell Kyung  _ I fucking love you _ through this simple touch. “Thank you for the food,” he whispers against Kyung’s lips, sitting down and grabbing his spoon, biting his cheek to keep from smiling at the slightly dazed look on Kyung’s face. 

He takes a mouthful of soup and raises his eyebrows in appreciation, maneuvering a piece of carrot onto his spoon and chewing theatrically. “S’good!” he mumbles, grinning at Kyung widely. 

//

The sound Kyung makes is more of a snort than a laugh, covering his face as he watches Jiho stretch in terms of acting, which, if he was being very nice, he could say was  _ earnest _ at best. They spend the rest of that dinner exchanging bites of food even though they were eating the exact same thing—Kyung would twirl the ramen noodles around his chopsticks and stick it in Jiho’s face even when he had a mouth full of food, and Jiho would roll his eyes but accept it anyway. 

_ This _ is what it would be like if things hadn’t gone to shit so early in the game, except perhaps they’d be in Kyung’s dorm. Or Jiho’s apartment, though on hindsight that might actually be company property.  _ This _ , the aquarium, and a million other dates Kyung’d daydreamed about in between texts from Jiho, in between elbow jabs from Jaehyo with demands that Kyung “stop being gross, jesus christ”.

If he could spend the rest of his life in this room, he would. He’s about to lean over and tell Jiho exactly that when Jiho freezes, holding a hand up to Kyung’s face, his gaze fixed on the kitchen window where the beam of the headlights of a car was now rapidly approaching them. “That’s not—” Kyung starts to question, but he can see that Jiho’s expression is already changing—sharpening,  _ hardening _ , and he shuts up immediately.

//

“How did they find us?” Jiho mumbles to himself as if he’s in a dream, his hand still in the air near Kyung’s face. “How did they  _ find _ us?”

He’d taken every fucking precaution there is, and yet they’d still come for them – what the fuck does he have to do to get away from them, swim to  _ Japan?  _ He’s moved past grief, moved past fear – now he’s just fucking f _ urious _ , because this is the third time these people have fucked everything up and he’s entirely fucking sick of it.

Jiho will have to worry about that later, though, because he has work to do, and if the thought of killing in front of Kyung hurts – well, death fucking hurts more, so that’s a conundrum for another time. Smoothly he rises from his seat and takes the knife that he’d used to chop the carrots – a pretty looking dagger, entirely unsuited for the task of chopping vegetables – and pushes it into Kyung’s hands. Kyung looks up at him, terrified, but he doesn’t have time to argue, so he hisses “just  _ take _ it,” and sprints out of the room into the bedroom where he’d dropped his gun earlier.

He’s on his way out of the bedroom with the shotgun in his hands when they break down the front down, and as always the world seems to move in slow motion as he pumps his shotgun and lets off a shot at the first agent that rings through the entire house. “Get  _ down, _ and close your fucking eyes,” he screams to Kyung as he rushes into the kitchen and takes up position behind the door, already reloading, watching Kyung drop to the floor and crawl under the table, his hands shaking terribly on the linoleum.

It’s with robotic movements that he takes one hand off the shotgun to grab the knife on his belt and slit the throat of the man who comes through the doorway first, using the same hand to push the body back through the door into another agent – and it’s with such ease that he raises the shotgun and fires with one hand, watching disinterestedly as the man’s brain matter explodes over the faded wallpaper. All he’s focused on is protecting  _ Kyung _ , and the only way they’re getting to him is over his fucking dead body.

//

He’s never going to get used to it. That’s his first thought, as he tightens and re-tightens his grip on the flashy knife, staring at the shiny side of its blade. It’s clean now, no traces of the stains that might’ve been there from the kitchen prepwork, because Jiho’s thorough like that. Meticulous, even in destruction, even as the sound of the shot rings through the whole house and Kyung’s breathing stutters. He didn’t think he’d have to hear that sound again, amplified, this time, louder than the  _ pop pop pop _ from before. 

And then Jiho’s shouting for him to  _ get down _ and  _ close his eyes _ .  _ How the hell was he supposed to pull that off? _ , he wanted to holler back but follows instructions anyway, his limbs shaking the whole way down. He may be scared shitless, but he’s not about to stick his head in the sand and get shot in the back. It’s only seconds later that he knows  _ why _ Jiho’d asked him to turn the other way—because he’s slicing his knife through someone’s throat with such ease (“… you can kick the gun away and jab them  _ here… _ ” comes Jiho’s voice, civil, but warm) that Kyung  _ has _ to look away. And then he hears another loud  _ bang _ and decides he can’t just fucking  _ sit _ there while Jiho’s literally fighting for his life.

Tremulously, he crawls a little further out of the line of sight from the doorframe—and out of Jiho’s view—and peeks up over the kitchen sink. The stove’s still warm from their cooking, earlier, but just over the windowsill, Kyung can see that there’re two godamn vans out there. For one fleetingly  _ ridiculous _ moment, he feels a sense of pride that they literally have to send a convoy of men to take Jiho out. And then he realizes that there’s  _ one _ of Jiho for what could be almost two dozen men and he blanches all over again.  _ Fuck _ , he curses to himself, his heart racing, fingers clutching the dagger so tight the design’s going to leave imprints on his palm.

//

Jiho looks back over his shoulder to see Kyung peering out the window, and leans back to grab his shoulder and push him down onto the floor. “Snipers,” he hisses, completely unsure of how many people they’ve brought and what they’re armed with. “Watch the door.”

And then he’s moving into the hallway, taking aim at the next agent who comes through the front door and firing the shotgun – _ boom!  _ His ears are starting to ring now – before whirling and using the butt of the gun to bash the head of one who was coming down the stairs. How many is that – four? Five? He tries to take a moment to  _ breathe _ but he can hear them creeping around upstairs so he retreats back into the kitchen, seeing Kyung crouched on the floor where he’d left him, and reloads his shotgun hurriedly.  _ Fuck, last shell already _ , he realises, grimacing.

“Once I’m done here, we’re going,” he mutters, hearing the creak of floorboards above his head. “If something happens to me, run out the back door and into the woods and  _ don’t fucking stop _ .” Kyung opens his mouth to rebut but Jiho just shakes his head grimly, pumping his shotgun and stepping out into the hallway again to peer up the stairs.

There can’t be many more – another five at the _ most _ . He doesn’t know why they just don’t fucking bomb the place, but he figures their instructions are to take him alive – the Organisation don’t take kindly to rogue agents (and that’s exactly what he is right now); he’s heard whispered stories of torture stretching out to last years… 

No, he won’t think of that. What he  _ will _ think about is the five lives he has to extinguish for Kyung, so he puts a foot on the stairs and begins creeping upward, adrenaline coursing through his body, making his teeth chatter. When he gets like this his targets fail to be people to him – they are just nameless, faceless sacks of meat that stand between him and his goal: safety. 

//

Kyung’s only experience with things like this 100% came from sitting behind a screen, and in movies, no one told you how scared you’d be. How easy it’d be for the knife—the only weapon he had, because let’s face it, Kyung isn’t going to be successfully punching anyone any time soon—to slip out of his grasp and clatter onto the floor, the sound drowned out amidst the sounds of gunshots ripping through the silence of the evening as Jiho presumably takes out another person. That’s the best case scenario, now, because if it isn’t Jiho killing someone, it’s someone else who’d gotten to Jiho, and that thought nearly makes Kyung throw up all the godamn stew onto the linoleum. 

He inches slowly towards the door, with the single-minded determination  _ not _ to leave Jiho behind. Not out of a stupid sense of loyalty (although that he may have to confess to), but because he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he left Jiho here to die. There’s no fucking way, he thinks, as he peers around the empty doorframe, no fucking way he’s leaving knowing that Woo Jiho might breathe his last here. He doesn’t know how he’s going to  _ live _ .

From his position at the door, he can tell that the parked cars are still running, but he can’t tell if there’s anyone inside or not. A little way down the road, shaded by the trees in the field they’d been practicing in just a little over an hour ago, sits the car Jiho’d obtained for their drive here.  _ His keys are on the counter, _ Kyung thinks, his train of thought derailed by a loud  _ bang _ coming from the top floor that isn’t quite the sound of a gunshot. Jiho’s going to  _ kill _ him if he injures himself, and of course, the other problem is that he might die. But fuck it, they needed to get away because god knows how the fuck these people kept finding them. 

If Jiho can risk his life for Kyung’s, Kyung can do just the same. 

Carefully making his way back into the kitchen, Kyung snags the keys from the counter, forcing himself to keep going instead of listening to the sounds of crossfire coming from upstairs. He thinks he can distinguish the sound of Jiho’s gun from the rest, and it’s still going, albeit only once this time. Then he’s sneaking out of the front door with as much stealth as he can afford, considering that he’s never had to exercise it beyond slinking back to his room way past curfew when he was still living home. And even then, he hadn’t been very good. But he keeps himself crouched low, thanking god for once in his life that he was born to be short, and makes it safely to the car. For a moment, he sinks down and back against the door, feeling the cool wind whip against his damp face, then he turns around to unlock the car and slides in, making sure to keep his frame out of sight of the window the whole time.

//

_ One. _ Jiho grabs him by the collar and pulls him close, pushing the barrel of the shotgun to his forehead and pulling the trigger, closing his eyes as the man’s head explodes.

_ Two. _ Jiho shifts his grip on the now-useless shotgun and uses it like a baseball bat to hit the next one in the face, smacking him across the room brutally.

_ Three. _ Jiho pulls his pistol out from its holster and shoots this one in the face.

_ Four _ . Jiho has to go hunting for this one, because he thinks he’s funny, hiding in the bedroom. He gets a knife in the head, right between the eyes.

_ Five. _ Jiho is surprised by this one, and they grapple for a few moments before Jiho disarms him  _ (Kyung, standing in the sunlight, watching with wide eyes as Jiho squeezes his wrist softly) _ before punching him in the stomach  _ (Kyung, standing in the sunlight, his mouth slightly parted as Jiho splays his hand on Kyung’s stomach) _ and finishing him off with a bullet underneath his chin.

There’s no six, because the house falls silent after that, leaving Jiho standing in the middle of one of the rooms, dripping with viscera and gore, his chest heaving. Without missing a beat, he turns and heads downstairs, back to Kyung, walking with his gun drawn just in case there are others. 

“Kyung?” he calls, raising his gun in case his words provoke a response – but there’s nothing but silence, and he walks in the kitchen and his heart stops – it’s fucking  _ empty _ , not even the knife left behind, and his heart starts to race. “Kyung?” he yells again, a bit more desperate this time, all the blood rushing to his head as he stands helplessly in the kitchen. 

They can’t have taken Kyung. He killed them all. They  _ can’t _ have. They  _ can’t have. _

//

Kyung counts the beats of his heart, thudding loudly in his ear. 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2. When he was in grade school, his father had coaxed him to join some bastardized form of the cadets and they’d been taught to march, albeit disorganizedly, against the asphalt at the front of their school.  _ 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2 _ . It’s this that calms Kyung now, enough for him to stick the key in the ignition with relative accuracy. He closes his eyes when he twists his hand to turn the engine on, peering just a little above his dashboard to check if there’s any movement from the other vans. It remains deadly silent, the headlights casting a yellow beam into the distance, but Jiho’d said  _ snipers _ , so technically Kyung could still be fucked. 

Like the vans, the house remains stubbornly silent too. He barely has the presence of mind to wind down the window in case… in case what? In case he manages to hear Jiho dying? Kyung doesn’t fucking know, but the dagger’s still in his godamn hand, metal glinting in the light of the setting sun. God. He’s going to have to trust that Jiho knows his shit, that Jiho’s gotten out in one piece. (Otherwise, Kyung thinks distantly, does it really matter if they find him anyway?) If he closes his eyes—and he finds that he’s been doing that a whole lot, recently—he can see Jiho holding that shotgun with his laser sharp gaze and just like that, Kyung slams his hand over the car horn. 1, 2, and then he pulls his hand away, holding his breath as he peers over the window again.

This time, he sees Jiho’s face peer out from beyond the door frame. They make eye contact and Kyung realizes he’s never seen Jiho this mad before. Focused, yes, but always with a hint of disinterest, like he’s discharging e-mails instead of bullets. This time, there’s a fire in Jiho’s eyes that makes Kyung’s throat go dry and he slinks even further into his seat in a combination of relief and anticipation.  _ He’s alive _ , Kyung’s heart seems to beat,  _ he’s fine _ . A minute elapses that Kyung barely notices before Jiho’s rapping on his side of the door and Kyung scoots over into the passenger’s seat, eyes wide as he watches Jiho slip into the space next to him.

Jiho is—if Kyung’d been haunted by the image of Jiho’s face coated in blood, before, he’s going to have a wholly new nightmare, now. Beyond that—beyond all the bodily matter that covered him like a halloween costume gone wrong—Jiho’s shaking like a live wire,  _ trembling _ . So Kyung throws all his caution to the wind and stretches across the gearshift to drag Jiho into a hard hug, pressing his face into the curve of Jiho’s neck as he breathes out a  _ thank fucking god _ .

//

“I thought they – I thought they took you,” Jiho whispers against Kyung’s neck, clutching onto him desperately. “I was ready to kill the whole fucking world to get to you.”

He breathes in and out, centers himself, focusing on the feel of Kyung’s shirt underneath his fingers, feeling Kyung’s hair tickle his neck. It’s okay to stay like this for a moment – just a moment, lost to the vastness of time, where they’re doing nothing but holding each other desperately.

“I’ll get our stuff,” Jiho mutters through chattering teeth, pulling back, breaking the moment. “I still don’t know how they found us.”

He slips out of the car and trudges back across the drive to the house, stepping over corpses disinterestedly as he makes his way to the bedroom and starts shoving all his stuff back in his bag – his clothes, his weapons, his medicine, his sketchbook that he’d brought for only god-knows-why. He does the same for Kyung’s bag, too, and takes those both back out to the car, smiling at Kyung in the front seat tiredly.

It’s when he’s in the shower – he has time and they’re going to be conspicuous otherwise – that the adrenaline finally leaves his body and he has to sit down on the floor of the shower, just for a second, and put his head between his knees to breathe heavily. He doesn’t understand how they’d fucking  _ found _ them, he’d taken every goddamn precaution there is, and he doesn’t quite understand where he went wrong.

Finally he loads up another duffel bag with most of the food he’d bought earlier and throws that into the boot of the car, sliding into the passenger seat and looking over at Kyung, the dagger still clutched in his hand. “Are you going to drive, or shall I?”


	12. Chapter 12

Jiho’d left the car before Kyung could say something else, but his words linger in the empty space behind him:  _ I was ready to kill the whole fucking world to get to you _ . He has to rub his now-shaking hands on his sweatpants to focus, watching the blood that’d come off from touching Jiho stain the grey cloth a fascinating maroon. Whose blood had that belong to? Had it been another person who, like Jiho, had been set on this path of destruction out of desperation rather than choice? Had it been another person who perhaps had a family? Whose spouse wouldn’t see him come home? That, and the combination of  _ he’s alive, he’s alive _ that pumps through him has Kyung tipping forward to lean his head against the wheel, trying to collect himself.

This isn’t the time nor place to start fucking panicking, so he forces himself to sit back up against the backrest and  _ breathe _ , to just think of Jiho, and think of the fact that all his family and friends are safe back at home.

“Okay,” he tells himself, the singular word sounding small even in the empty silence of the car. He glances back at the house when Jiho emerges again, looking clean and well put together, somehow, a wholly different person than the one who’d first entered the car. It’s only when he’s sitting down that Kyung realizes that he’s still shaking, even if just slightly. “I can drive. Doesn’t make sense to crash the car  _ now _ .” It’s a jab at Jiho’s speeding, an attempt to diffuse the situation, but it sounds weak even to himself. “Where are we going?” 

Now that Jiho’s here, Kyung drops the knife with a clatter in the compartment in front of the gearshift. The handle’s probably hot from how hard Kyung’d been gripping it, as if it were his lifeline. And it  _ was _ , only now, he slides his free hand to grip Jiho’s instead, holding on just as tightly.

//

“Another safehouse,” Jiho mutters under his breath, resting his head on the headrest and closing his eyes and swallowing because  _ fuck _ , Kyung holding his hand is grounding him, bringing him back down to the here and now. “Just drive, I’ll give you directions.”

Kyung pulls out of the driveway and Jiho feels his heart lurch a little bit. Yet another house they’re running away from; yet another string of bodies left in his wake. He’s been doing this long enough that killing shouldn’t be making him feel this way, but all of a sudden he’s  _ weary _ . He wants to rest. “Take a left here,” he says quietly, nodding out the window at the route Kyung should take.

“I still don’t know how they found us,” he mutters under his breath. “I took every fucking precaution I could. Save of stashing us in an underground bunker…” he lets his sentence trail off and closes his eyes, so very  _ tired _ of everything.

//

Kyung recalls Jiho’s suggestions when they’d first talked about laying low and wonder just how many times Jiho’d to use these safehouses. If, for each safehouse, there was another story of another tired Jiho sitting alone (or, not alone, perhaps) in the center of it all. The thought has him glancing in Jiho’s direction as he follows Jiho’s instructions—driving as fast as he can while still respecting road safety—and he lifts their hands to touch his knuckles gently to Jiho’s cheek. 

“We’re fine,” Kyung tells him. It’s not exactly true, because Jiho looks like he’s about to pass out in his seat, and Kyung has to focus on driving or he’s going to start panicking all over again. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” It’s not like he knows any better; the organization could have a tracking chip planted right in the middle of Jiho’s forehead and Kyung wouldn’t know what to do either. He’s out of his element here, like a fish out of water and into a shitstorm. But as he glances over at Jiho again—sleeping fitfully, now, his features crumpling and smoothening in turns—Kyung’s heart lurches in his chest in a wholly different way from the adrenaline and fear. He’s sure of one thing, at least: there’s not a thing in the world Kyung wouldn’t do for Woo Jiho.

The highway is surprisingly crowded; it takes Kyung a while to recall that it’s already Friday night so people were probably travelling between cities. It makes him feel even more out of place, like a sore thumb in the midst of the universe. Here they were, in a getaway car, with  _ Kyung _ at the wheel, amongst regular people just going about their days, like Kyung had been a month ago before a meteor crash landed right in the middle of his godamn life. Is this how Jiho feels when he walks around, carrying all that blood on his hands? Is this how he feels when he’d first taken Kyung up on the offer of a second date at the mall? He doesn’t know if he should feel resentful, because when it comes to Jiho, all his neat lines and categories criss cross like wires, threatening to detonate like an ill-timed bomb.

//

Jiho dreams.

He dreams of faraway places and moments lost to time, faces ghosting away like pollen scattered in the wind. There’s his mother’s face, taunting and cruel, echoed by his brother kicking him in the stomach while he laughs. There’s the faces of his superiors in the army, hard and angled in equations Kyung could probably discern. There’s the countless visages of the opponents he’d faced in the makeshift octagon; blurring into one form, none distinguishable from the last. There’s the woman who’d brought him into the Organisation; there’s M, and then – and then, worst of all, there’s the faces he’ll never forget, the ones he’d locked away into the deepest corners of his mind, never to be released – the faces of his victims, lined up in rows stretching away until the end of eternity, all screaming and shouting at him, their mouth stretched into caricatures, with huge long teeth and black eyes, railing and roaring against their deaths at his hand.

He’s trapped as they come for him, because his feet can’t move; he wants to turn and run but he fucking  _ can’t _ , he can’t even lift the knife in his hand as they descend, fingers outstretched into claws. He closes his eyes, accepting his fate despite the dread that wreaths him –

And then Kyung’s grabbing him around the waist, pulling him backwards into the light, away from the monsters and he gasps awake, grabbing onto to the dashboard as he blinks furiously – his hands going for his knife automatically, panting, coming back to himself.

“Kyung,” he breathes, looking over at Kyung who is driving still, an expression of worry etched all over his features as he reaches for Jiho. “Fuck.”

//

Kyung’d debated turning on the radio but came to the conclusion that, after essentially walking out of a massacre, listening to pop music didn’t seem to be very fitting. Besides, he didn’t want to wake Jiho up; Kyung can tell that he’s shaken up by the entire affair, troubled by how trouble keeps sticking to them like an industrial-grade magnet, so any time he can spend asleep and unthinking, Kyung would gladly allow him.

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter in the end, because Jiho’s whimpering crescendos until it comes to a sudden choking stop and he’s up, reaching for  _ something _ as his eyes dart around wildly. Kyung’s pretty sure that he might be stabbed if he tries touching Jiho now but he extends a hand anyway, placing his palm carefully over Jiho’s cheek as he glances back to the road, trying to spot a quiet side to pull over in even if this is the highway.

“I’m here,” Kyung says. As if he didn’t have enough nightmare fuel already, he’s going to have to add Jiho’s whimpering—frightened, scared,  _ lost _ —to the list. “We’re good. No one’s following, I think.” They’ve been driving for a good few hours, now, yet Kyung’s not tired. Probably because he’s running on the remnants of his adrenaline. The highway had mostly emptied out so Kyung figures it won’t be much of a deal when he pulls over at the leftmost lane just so he can make sure Jiho’s okay. “Talk to me.”

//

“Nightmare,” Jiho gasps, grabbing onto Kyung’s hand and clutching it to his chest. “Everyone – repeating – over and over in my head. All the people I’ve ever killed.” 

It feels weird to be unloading on someone – normally when he gets these horrible visions he has to keep them to himself, to internalise, to lock them away. But the look on Kyung’s face (nothing but concern, raw and unfiltered) has him closing his eyes and opening up. “I saw all their faces. They came for me.  _ You _ saved me.”

He lets the shudders wrack through him, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. He’s never been _ this _ torn up over something before, but then again he’s never slaughtered ten people in a row in quick succession – his previous record was eight. Compounded with the fact Kyung and he are on the run, it all builds inside him, overflowing. “Sorry,” he pants, realising he must look like a fucking wreck right now and that’s probably the last thing Kyung needs. “Sorry.”

//

Kyung’s glad that the car’s come to a stop before Jiho’d started talking, or he couldn’t be held responsible for them veering off the road and crashing. The despair in Jiho’s voice, the way he shakes like he can’t stand to be in his own skin—it only confirms everything that Kyung’d been slowly drawing to a conclusion over the past 24 hours. He’s wrong, though, Kyung hadn’t saved him; he’d only exacerbated the problem. Because if Kyung hadn’t met him in that laundromat, hadn’t teased him and flirted with him and tried to dig a hole straight to his core, they wouldn’t be here. 

“I was going to fall asleep anyway,” Kyung jokes, a macabre form of reassurance. He feels twisted up inside, a combination of concern and horror and the helplessness of not being able to do anything to help Jiho in the slightest. And if he feels like this, he can’t imagine what Jiho might be going through, can’t imagine what it feels like to wade through the bloodbath of your own doing, just a little too late for regret. “It’s not— you don’t have to…” The silence hangs awkwardly in the air between them, filled with the quiet humming of the air-conditioning and the occasional car zooming past them. 

He doesn’t want to play the one-upmanship game, here. But he’s not trying to when he tugs Jiho’s hands closer and carefully undoes the death grip he has on Kyung’s palm. And then he’s forcing himself to meet Jiho’s eyes when he says, “You don’t get it, do you? You saved  _ me _ . I could’ve, I dunno…” He drags his hand through his hair, laughing a little dryly to himself, trying to gather his thoughts, try to put into words what he feels, what he’s felt, what he’s going to always feel. They seem too big to be put into words, too complex to fit into a string of sentences, but he tries anyway. “The point is, I have you and that’s all that matters.”

//

Oh, that hurts. That hurts more than Jiho would like to admit, and he lets it show on his face, tugging his hands loose from Kyung’s grip, tightening his lips in a line. Because he’s fine with pretending for these two weeks. He’s fine with lying to himself. But he can’t deal with Kyung lying to him, and saying such sweet, saccharine things that drip from his lips like honey, drawing Jiho closer. It makes his fucking heart break, and after that nightmare he just… he can’t do it.

“Kyung, please,” he says, and he’s surprised to hear how raw his voice sounds, how he’s nearly on the verge of tearing up as he struggles to put his thoughts in order. “Don’t… I can pretend, for these two weeks. But don’t lie to me. Please. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

He shuts up, then, because he very nearly said it – _ don’t make it harder than it already is because I love you, damn it, and hearing you lie to me is killing me over and over in a thousand different ways  _ – and he can’t say it, not yet. So he slumps back against his seat, miserable and defeated, feeling very small indeed.

//

Jiho flinches as though Kyung’d hit him. No, not even then; Jiho’d barely reacted when Kyung’d punched him earlier.  _ Twice _ . Jiho looks like Kyung’d taken the knife lying between them both and pierced it through his ribs and that look? That breaks Kyung’s heart more than all the lies, all the disappointment, all the running, running, running combined. For a moment, he doesn’t know what Jiho’s on about; Kyung hadn’t been the one who let Jiho build a godamn castle in the sky only to destroy it with one pull of his trigger.

But then his own voice comes to him, quiet, unsure, nearly suffocated in the heat between them both—“Can you lie to me?”—and Kyung feels like  _ he’s _ the one who’d been sucker punched, leaving him speechless and staring with his mouth hanging slightly ajar. He wants to grip Jiho’s chin, wants to look him in the eye and then kiss him to show him that Kyung’s not that fucking good of a liar, not when it comes to things like this. 

He doesn’t have a chance to articulate any of that, because then a car comes pulling up behind them, honking loudly in a bid to get them to move. Kyung startles, glancing up at the rearview mirror and heaves a sigh of relief when he sees that it’s a flashy, expensive looking thing, and not the ominous van from earlier. “Asshole,” Kyung mumbles under his breath, deciding to shelve the talk for later so he can wind down his window to stick his middle finger out as he sets the car in motion once more.

//

They lapse into a somewhat uncomfortable silence as the drive continues, Jiho only speaking to tell Kyung to turn onto a different freeway. Most of that time he spends staring straight ahead, not thinking, not feeling – just existing in the worst kind of way, barely clinging on. Memories try to creep into his head, unbidden, but he rejects them – this is not the time, nor the place, not when misery is knocking on his door. The war going on inside him is so painful, so awful and macabre that he just numbs himself to it, watching the scenery go by mindlessly.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, a few hours later. “We should eat, and then I can drive if you want.”

They’re about halfway to the safe house, now – he knows there’s a fast food joint on the freeway some way ahead, and then after that a series of complicated turn offs to get to the other car, where they’ll need to dump this one. 

//

Of all the times for Kyung to remain silent, now was probably the worst time to do it. But no matter how he broached the subject in his head (something like “So… it turns out I was lying about asking you to lie” just didn’t seem right and “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen” just felt like he was blatantly overcompensating and he certainly doesn’t think that saying “I think I’m in love with you” would go over very well, right now), none of his words seem to want to come. His tenseness only manages to reach a terminal velocity, to a point where he can’t even bring himself to  _ tell _ Jiho, at least, that none of the things that Jiho’d assumed was true.

So he lets the silence blanket them, lets himself sit in silence as he clenches at the steering wheel a little too hard and glances up at the rearview mirror—at Jiho—a little too much. It’s not until Jiho points out that they should eat that Kyung notices that their gas is running low, too, so he nods, mutely following Jiho’s instructions until they pull to a stop at a gas station fast food joint.

They spend a moment in silence in the car where Kyung gathers up the lost threads of his courage, and he’s about to speak, he  _ really _ is, but then Jiho abruptly gets out of the car, leaving Kyung alone with his hands sitting uselessly in his lap, Jiho’s words running laps in his head. By the time he gets out to follow, Jiho’s already disappearing beyond the glass door and into the brightly lit fast food joint. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Kyung’d wanted to—he had so many things he wanted to tell Jiho when he woke up and now they’ve come to this standstill. He picks up his pace and follows in after Jiho into the sparsely populated shop, sliding in the seat opposite his.

//

Now that he’s out of the stifling atmosphere of the car, he feels a weight slide off his shoulders, just a little. For the first time since dinner – how many hours ago, now? What even  _ is _ the time? – he feels better, the death and destruction in his path so very far away now. He strides straight to the counter and orders for the both of them, not realising how hungry he is until his stomach rumbles, and then takes a seat in a booth, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table.

“I ordered you a burger,” Jiho grins at Kyung as he walks in and sits opposite, trying to reinstall some normalcy in the situation. “And a milkshake.” 

//

“I saw your sketchbook,” Kyung says, a little lamely, a little out of nowhere. He can’t watch Jiho try to wear a smile when that’s obviously the furthest thing he was feeling; he  _ refuses _ to be an addition to whatever the hell Jiho was going through. “I— when you were out just now, I wanted to look for the painkillers but your book fell out and I couldn’t resist.” So this is where he begins—the turning point for him, the one that had unbalanced his resolution that after these two weeks, he was going to leave Jiho behind as best he can, even when he knew he wasn’t going to make it out in one piece.

Yet here they were, now, with Jiho staring at him like whatever Kyung said next could physically hurt him. He wants to bridge the distance between them, wants to take Jiho’s hands in his, wants to lay his feelings out bare and let Jiho have his way with them but he knows he’s treading on eggshells, and so he doesn’t. Instead, he reverts back to what he knows how to use best: logic.

“The night I punched you, I thought what you said was real and I—” he laughs, sucking in a sharp breath “—I thought I was stupid for letting myself be strung along the whole time. I was so  _ angry _ because I was falling in lo—I mean, everything I knew about you was a lie, so I assumed that meant  _ everything _ . But…” He glances up at Jiho then, the question balancing precariously at the tip of his tongue. But he reins it in, holds it back, presses his lips into a thin line, just in case Jiho’s version of the truth was something else together.

//

Jiho can’t quite believe that they’re doing this right here in a fucking fast food restaurant – Christ, he’d rather be  _ anywhere  _ but here, he’d rather be back in the house, or cramped in the car; but he falls silent and just watches Kyung as he draws out the words, obviously hard for him to say.

And then his heart stops as he recognises the syllables that Kyung forms –  _ because I was falling in love _ – and it’s all he can do not to keel over then and there. Hope starts to bloom under his breastbone but he suppresses it because – well, when has anything  _ ever _ gone his way? 

“I lied to you about so many things,” he begins, hesitantly, speaking the words straight from his soul, the words he’s wanted to say since… well, since he’d seen Kyung standing out the front of his apartment, before the other agent had walked up and punched him. “And I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. But the one thing I never,  _ ever _ lied to you about was – was how I felt for you. That was truth.” He closes his eyes and digs his own grave for what may well be the last time with his next words: “That still is truth. I know you asked me to lie to you… But I’m not lying, this time around.”

//

Jiho’s words find their grip on Kyung’s heart and he laughs. Just laughs, hand covering his face like Jiho’d said something funny, but really, it’s the relief of it all. He feels like he’s been running circles around something he can’t even see, and now here Jiho was, a shining godamn beacon of light. If he doesn’t laugh, he might truly end up crying and he wasn’t quite ready to look like he’s having a nervous breakdown in the middle of the night at a strange place. 

He’s saved from replying when a waitress in the tackiest waitressing outfit steps over to their table with their order, looking the way anyone would when they find themselves working a nightshift at a diner in the middle of nowhere. She sets the plates on the table, completely ignoring the way their eyes stay fixed on each others’ like they can’t bear to look away. Kyung can’t, at least, not since the first time he laid eyes on Jiho. 

It’s around a mouthful of his straw that he says, “I’m not lying either. Not from the beginning, not when I asked you to—though believe me, I  _ tried _ —and definitely not in the car, just now.” He sucks on the drink to distract himself, the liquid thick and sweet on his tongue as his hands circle around the freezing cold glass. “Before that, when you were… you were in the house and I didn’t know if you were going to come back to me—” Kyung averts his gaze, looks down at the burgers instead, sloppily put together, looking like Jiho’d paid about fifty cents for them. “—I’d have walked back right in if you didn’t.”

//

This should really be the happiest moment of Jiho’s life – but all he can feel is, somewhat inexplicably,  _ guilt _ . He shakes his head vehemently, as if he can stop and put the words back in Kyung’s mouth, take him back to the moment when he thought Kyung didn’t have feelings for him and this was all a pretense – because what is he?  _ Who _ is he to deserve this, this confession that’s hot and weighty in his hands? If he could go back and turn it all around now, he would, not for his own sake but for Kyung’s – he is too good for Jiho.

“You should have left,” he says throatily, digging his nails into the skin of his hand to  _ feel _ something. “I’m not – I mean – fuck. I’m a contract killer, Kyung.” His words are quiet but raw, and he feels something in him break as he says them. “You can go and have a normal fucking life when this blows over. Meet someone normal. Someone who isn’t…” he falters, but digs his nails in harder, drawing blood. “Someone who isn’t me.”

Because he’s the worst person imaginable for Kyung, and as much as he wants this –  _ oh, god, he wants it with every molecule in his being –  _ he is nothing but darkness and blackness and guilt, bleeding into everything he touches – Kyung’s now a wishy-washy shade of grey, and Jiho wants to save him from getting darker.

//

Kyung feels the airy feeling drain out of him almost at once, like his blood had been replaced by liquid lead. Because this isn’t what he wanted to hear, this wasn’t supposed to be how it’s supposed to  _ be _ . Alright, he’d assumed that at the beginning, it’d be simple: boy meets boy, boy falls in love, and all that contrived nonsense. So they had a few unexpected turns, but Kyung  _ knows _ what he wants, knows that at this point, the two of them are twisted so tightly together, it’s hard to imagine them apart without damaging  _ something _ .

And perhaps, the damage had already occurred. Perhaps it’d been there all along.

“You don’t get to say that,” Kyung blurts out, sounding accusatory even when he hadn’t meant to because he doesn’t understand. What does Jiho want from him? How is this supposed to work? Where the fuck was the instruction manual? “You don’t get to… to make that kind of choice for me. I know what I want. I know  _ who _ I want.” He tries to cushion the sharpness of his words by reaching over to take one of Jiho’s hands, but even this—something he’d done a hundred times by now—doesn’t feel quite right, with Jiho’s hand sitting unyieldingly in his own.

//

“I am death,” Jiho rasps, knowing he’s being melodramatic but needing to get his point across anyway. “I’m all the shit parts of human nature. I know how to kill a man in fifty different ways using only my hands. I’m…” he twines his fingers with Kyung’s, unable to resist, even if the words he’s saying hurt to speak. “I’m death, Kyung. I don’t want you caught up in that. I love you too much to see you go down that path. ”

The words are out before he can stop them, and he freezes, his blood running cold.  _ Fuck _ . It’s the truth, but – but he feels so dark, wanted his confession to come under better circumstances. As it is, he meets Kyung’s eyes across the table, letting him know that he’s speaking nothing but truth, that this, at least, is not a lie. 

//

_ But I’ve seen you laugh _ , Kyung thinks, a little childishly, watching the way Jiho’s hand closes over his. And then all he hears is a loud roaring as he stares at Jiho, not quite believing his own ears. Did he just—Was he  _ serious _ about it or was it just—and to throw it out in the same breath as he’s slamming the door shut in Kyung’s face? 

“Caught up in what?” he asks, hearing the incredulity colour his tone brightly, angrily. The sharp ache that rises in his chest isn’t quite heartbreak; it’s indignance for himself, for the both of them. That this could be so easy but had convoluted to the point where the beginning nor the end was in sight. “In a shitstorm where I spend half the time pretending that it isn’t happening? Because I think it’s a little too late for that. And it’s… what, thrice now, that your people came for us, and my mind still hasn’t changed since.”  _ I’m stranded here _ , Kyung wants to say,  _ but I don’t want to leave if there’s you. _ “So you tell  _ me _ how I’m supposed to turn away.”

//

“I don’t know!” Jiho roars, heat rising in his face as he recoils like Kyung’s hit him. “I just don’t want you to get fucking hurt, Kyung. I don’t want you to  _ die _ , which, in case you haven’t noticed, is something that tends to happen a lot in my life. I don’t… I need you too fucking much for that.”

Never in his life has he wanted to vanish more than right now as he covers his face with his hands and closes his eyes and wills himself away. Never in his life has he felt so fucking conflicted, here in this fucking diner at 3 am with Kyung shooting daggers at him opposite. He’s so – so fucking  _ madly _ in love with Kyung, and it would truly be the death of him if he was to leave; but it’s what he needs to do, because Jiho is contagious in the worst way. 

//

Kyung withdraws at Jiho’s sudden outburst, biting down on the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t say something stupid instead. Because Jiho’s right—Kyung’s vulnerable. He doesn’t know jackshit about punching a man right and had literally just gotten a concussion after being approached  _ once _ without Jiho. He’s useless; without Jiho, he’d be dead twice over, now. So he can’t promise that he’s going to be here, he knows that. Their situation is volatile, erratic, ready to shift at any moment. God knows if those men were already hot on their heels by now. 

And  _ still _ Kyung knows there’s one thing he’s going to hold onto no matter what.

“And you think I don’t need you?” Kyung asks in return, his voice calm now, quiet, a stark contrast to Jiho’s. He’s hurt and he lets it bleed freely into his voice, doesn’t bother to hide it any more. “You think that making it out alive of this is the only thing that matters?”

//

Jiho levels Kyung with a look, amazed that they’re having a fucking  _ fight _ about… about what? About the feelings they have for each other? Kyung hasn’t exactly said he loves Jiho, but he’s making it clear he wants to stick around.

“What matters?” Jiho asks quietly, suddenly defeated. “Tell me.” 

He’s not baiting Kyung – he genuinely wants to know. Wants to hear it. Because he’s – he’s on the verge of giving up and telling Kyung that if he wants to stay by Jiho’s side forever then he’s welcome to, regardless of the death and destruction that is sure to come their way.

//

Kyung shoots Jiho a pointed look at first, as if he can’t quite believe that after all  _ that _ , Jiho still has to ask that question. But as he meets Jiho’s eyes, he realizes that Jiho needs to hear this aloud to believe it. 

So Kyung inhales slowly and meets Jiho squarely, propping his arms on the table as he says, “You do.” And with that comes all the unspoken times that Kyung’d wondered how Jiho had been left all alone in this universe, how  _ unfair _ it’d all been, when Kyung had fallen so fast and so easily and so  _ helplessly _ that he can’t imagine the future without thinking of Jiho, first. He doesn’t want to imagine it. “Since the moment on the roof— even before that—” Kyung rubs his neck, almost a little shyly in recollecting those first few days of absolute magnetism “—I thought, I’m screwed. This guy’s hot and he’s going to be the end of me. And then I saw you smiling and that was—” Kyung laughs to himself again, nervously, looking down at where he’d clasped his hands on his lap “—I wanted to be the one you looked at like that.” When Kyung looks up again, he thinks of Jiho on the cold floor of his bathroom, folded up in himself like he can’t believe what’s happening. He’d thought that he was seeing two of Jiho, then. The golden boy bathed in the blue of the aquarium, and the one in black, with red on his hands. But he’s wrong; they were all one and the same and Kyung’s only seeing that now, layered complexly underneath the man sitting in front of him. “Because you… you think that all that at the house is what you are, but you’re not. I know you’re not."

//

Jiho exhales at that, breathing out every last bit of sadness and grief and angst and  _ dread _ , just closes his eyes and breathes out, living in the moment as Kyung’s words ring around him. He can hear the truth in Kyung’s voice, in the way he laughs nervously, looking down, like he’s _ shy _ . 

In that moment – it’s fucking cliched, but it’s true – everything falls away. There’s no diner anymore, no Organisation, no blood on his hands, no haunted souls walking with him. There’s just him and Kyung and – and the love that’s so real and palpable between them, warm and companionable, like nothing Jiho has ever felt before. Slowly, hesitantly, like Kyung is something fragile that might break under his touch, he stretches out his hand to touch Kyung’s face, sighing as Kyung leans into the touch automatically. He’s starting to feel what real hope is, with Kyung by his side like this, and he finds he quite likes the taste of it.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words scratching at his throat, clawing to be released, and god does it feel good to say them. 

//

The moment Jiho touches him, all the tension he didn’t know he was holding onto drains out of him and he melts, eyes fluttering to a shut. On hindsight, he’d been scared of the outcome where Jiho kept saying  _ no _ and Kyung couldn’t change his mind. But then Jiho’s next words blow him out of the water completely, how quiet he sounds, how easily Kyung could’ve missed it if not for the fact that all his senses were now tuned to Woo Jiho. 

“Fuck,” Kyung says, taking the hand Jiho has on his cheek in his, sliding their palms together and squeezing. He can’t help grinning, even though he knows he looks maniacal now, and especially at 3am in the middle of nowhere. “I didn’t think you’d be— you were not—“ he stops himself short of rambling into a godamn irrelevant spiel about how Jiho’s only good at one-upmanship and decides to let it lie, this time. “I love you too.”

And then they’re watching each other, a little shyly, over a bright red table and a pile of rapidly cooling burgers and Kyung thinks,  _ god help me now. _

//

Jiho’s stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise, and he grimaces, looking down at his dejected burger, realising how starving he is. “I might not be able to stop saying that, you know,” Jiho says, sliding his hand out from Kyung’s somewhat reluctantly and grabbing his burger to finally take a bite. “‘eels good,” he mumbles around a mouthful of burger, smiling happily.

There’s still something niggling at the back of his mind, though – how the Organisation found them. He had taken  _ every _ precaution, double checked  _ everything _ and yet? They’d still stormed the house and he just doesn’t understand  _ how.  _ Obviously something went wrong somewhere, leading them to him; he now has to find and correct it, so it doesn’t happen again. Because the last thing he wants is to pack up and move to a  _ third _ safehouse – it will just exhaust them both.

//

Food is the last thing on Kyung’s mind now, still reeling from the weight of all that had just transpired between them now. But watching Jiho eat—watching Jiho vacuum that burger, really—Kyung realizes he’s right; they don’t know when the hell the next time they get to eat will be for sure, so he picks it up and makes an exaggerated expression in Jiho’s direction before biting down on it.

As it turns out, he’s ravenous; they didn’t have time to finish their dinner before and it takes him only several bites to devour the whole thing. Between the both of them, it’s almost like it’s feeding time at the zoo. 

“You’re driving after this, right?” Kyung confirms, around his last mouthful of burger. He has no idea where Jiho’s safehouse is, but if he’d suggested a rest stop then it must still be several more hours away. In which case, Kyung would much spend the rest of the time staring at Jiho than at an open road. “Because your car needs gas.”

//

“Mmmhmm,” Jiho hums, finishing off a mouthful of fries. “I’ll only put a little bit in, because we’re switching cars soon. Stay here, I’ll do that.”

It only takes a few more minutes for him to fill up the car with the minimum that’s allowed at the pumps before heading in to pay. While he’s inside, he grabs a few packets of chips and candy for the road, as well as a few energy drinks since he knows he’s going to be driving through the night, before waving to Kyung to join him. 

“Here,” he says, throwing Kyung a chocolate bar as they slide in the car, Jiho turning the ignition and pulling out of the service station, reaching over to link his fingers with Kyung’s as they drive into the night, his heart singing.

//

Kyung can’t keep his eyes off of Jiho, can’t believe that this is actually happening. He physically has to repress himself from smiling so hard, because his cheeks  _ hurt _ . If Jaehyo could see him now (and Jaehyo’s such a distant, far away thought; the idea of home is so far removed, though Kyung knows exactly why), he’s pretty sure that he’s going to make a plethora of grossed out commentary. 

“Jiho,” Kyung calls out, just to see Jiho take his eyes off the empty road and turn to Kyung questioningly. Just so he can see Jiho grin at him in a way that’s more fond than exasperated when Kyung leans over to kiss his cheek because he can. Because all this right now felt like a new beginning, and maybe Kyung’s a hopeful optimist, maybe he’s just downright stupid, but at least he likes to think he has a good reason why. “How long more do we have to go?”

//

“Until we switch cars? About 45 minutes,” Jiho replies, poking his tongue out at Kyung for no other reason except he  _ can _ . “And then from there, probably another five hours. You should sleep.”

He doesn’t want Kyung to sleep – he wants Kyung’s company in this new beginning as he drives along the empty freeway – but he has to try and be the responsible one because otherwise Kyung is gonna crash  _ hard _ as soon as they get to the safe house. 

//

“45 minutes,” Kyung echoes thoughtfully after him, glancing at the roads (empty), and then back at Jiho again (still smiling). It’s not sleep he’s thinking of—he’s still floating on that high that’s running like a live current between them both. Instead, he wants to touch Jiho, wants Jiho to put his hands on Kyung in turns and tell Kyung exactly how much he’d meant when he said he loved him. Which is a dangerous thought, given the fact that they were in a moving vehicle, but Kyung’s almost been shot at twice now; everything else pales in comparison. 

_ He loves me _ , Kyung thinks dopily, leans over to say, “Wanna try something?” Were he back at home, he’d have dinner and candles and Jaehyo to stay over at Taeil’s for the night. But all he has now is a hand on Jiho’s thigh, inching slowly upwards as he watches Jiho’s expression shift.  _ He loves me _ , Kyung thinks again, and that thought is enough to drive out everything else—the doubt, the bloodshed, the fact that there’s a chance, still, that Kyung might never go home.  _ He loves me. _

//

Jiho doesn’t quite know what Kyung is on about with his  _ wanna try something? _ until he places his hand on Jiho’s thigh and edges it upward, and Jiho catches on  _ instantly _ and has to bite his lip because  _ fuck, _ that’s illicit, but it has him buzzing. He takes one hand off the wheel to wind it in Kyung’s hair and tug him close for a kiss, thanking Christ the roads are empty because he soon finds himself lost in the feel of Kyung’s lips, gasping and pulling back as the car drifts onto the rumble strip accidentally.

“You’re going to kill us both,” he murmurs amusedly. “And that would – oh f _ uck,  _ Kyung.” He’s cut off by Kyung’s hand drifting over his cock, making him groan and roll his hips upward automatically, the car surging forward as his foot drops on the accelerator. “ _ God _ .”

//

Jiho’s reaction is instantaneous and it makes Kyung feel even bolder as he grins and mumbles a, “I wouldn’t go as far as  _ god _ . Kyung would do.” And then he’s tugging down at Jiho’s zipper as he mouths at Jiho’s ear. It’s probably going to spell his doom, but he wants Jiho to hand over his control to Kyung. He’d spent so long lying and lying about lying that Kyung wants to lay him bare and tell him that he likes what he sees. 

“Let me make this feel good for you,” Kyung continues, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as he slides his hand into Jiho’s jeans, hand curling over the outline of his cock. It’s the only way he knows how, because he’d fucked up with his words, and he certainly can’t afford to buy Jiho whatever the hell he likes. 

And then he’s kneading, the heel of his palm pressing against Jiho’s length teasingly, just so Kyung can watch each of his minute reactions, his features shifting under the dimness of the street-lamps. He’s patient, waits until he feels Jiho harden beneath his touch before he frees Jiho’s cock from his boxers, thumb running over its head again and again only because he loves the sound that he can elicit from Jiho from just  _ that _ alone.

//

Keeping one hand on the wheel – dying in a car crash because he’s getting a handjob from his boyfriend is  _ not  _ the way he wants to go out – he curls the other in Kyung’s hair, tugging desperately as he bucks his hips upward into Kyung’s hand, managing to flick on cruise control so he can take his feet away from the pedals, because otherwise he’s just going to end up stomping on the accelerator and sending them speeding forward into a fiery death. 

“Kyung,” he moans, loud and unabashedly as they speed on through the night, gasping aloud as Kyung licks a line up his cheek, huffing breath onto his neck. “You  _ do _ want to kill me.”

The sensations are increased tenfold by the confessions in the diner earlier; he feels almost  _ high _ on love, and the way Kyung is stroking his cock is just making it worse. Or better. He can’t really tell, because his brain finds it hard to focus on anything except pleasure right now.

//

There’s a difference between the way it is now and the way it was before, when there was an undercurrent of doubt running underneath each and every one of their touches. This time around, Kyung can watch Jiho moan helplessly as Kyung flicks his wrist, as Kyung catches his earlobe between his teeth and kisses his way down Jiho’s neck, and think:  _ mine _ .

“I think I’ll keep you,” Kyung tells him, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss on his cheek, only to adjust his position so he can lower his mouth over the head of Jiho’s cock. He chuckles at Jiho’s immediately  _ loud _ reaction, the vibrations only serving to amplify his moans. And then he’s gripping onto Jiho’s thigh if only to stop himself from being choked, hollowing his cheeks as he begins to bob his head up and down.

//

If someone had asked Jiho a year ago where he thought his life was going to end up, never in a million years would he have said  _ this: _ getting blown by a man he’d met in a laundromat, dated, broken up with, got back together with and then confessed his love to, all while they ran away from the Organisation. But, god, he couldn’t be happier at the way his life has turned out, because he’s never felt like  _ this _ before, and he doubts he ever will again.

“Kyung,” he breathes, his hand pushing Kyung’s head down deeper, shuddering and gasping into the air of the car, gripping the steering wheel so hard he can feel every tiny pothole in the road as they drive on. “Kyung, Kyung, Kyung – fuck.” 

He’s not going to last long, and he doesn’t even have the gall to be ashamed – not when Kyung is swirling his tongue around the head of Jiho’s cock, taking more and more of Jiho into his mouth, not after all they’ve been through today.

//

He wants to draw it out, wants to tease Jiho just that little bit more but he can sense that Jiho’s close, if not from how he’s repeating Kyung’s name over and over and over again like it’s the only word he knows, then from the way he’s pushing insistently at Kyung’s head. So Kyung complies—there's no room for teasing now, not when Jiho's saying his name like  _ that _ —taking Jiho in as far as he can go, and then back up again, until he can feel Jiho's thigh flexing and tensing under his palm. 

Then he pulls away with a slick  _ pop _ of his lips, pushing himself up so he can slide a hand in Jiho's hair, turning his head away from the road to kiss him as he jerks him off in fast, measured strokes, the sound filling up the space between them both. Jiho stutters and groans, his knuckles white over the steering wheel, and Kyung pulls away, satisfied, grinning up at him as he says, "Eyes on the road," even as his hand continues working over Jiho's cock.

//

“Oh, god, Kyung – fuck, don’t stop,” Jiho moans unashamedly, arching his hips up into Kyung’s hand desperately. “Please,  _ fuck.” _

He’s going to come, he can feel it building in his belly, and he wants to fuck Kyung’s mouth when he does so he pulls desperately at Kyung’s hair, hoping the gets the message and gasping when he does. The feel of Kyung’s mouth around his cock –  _ fuck _ .

He’s saying the most idiotic shit this time when he comes, as he tightens his hand in Kyung’s hair, thrusting up into Kyung’s mouth desperately, like “Kyung, god, feels so fucking good, christ, Kyung, I love you,  _ shit _ .” And then it’s over and Kyung is pulling away to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, smiling like the cat that’s just got the cream, leaning over to kiss Jiho again. Jiho can taste himself on Kyung’s tongue and he melts all over again, his bones turning to jelly.

//

Jiho looks satisfied and content and so far removed from what he'd been when he woke up from his nightmare that Kyung feels like he's been doused in something thickly sweet and warm.  _ When did I get so attached? _ , he wonders absently, looking over Jiho again and again in a way that has Jiho arching an eyebrow at him curiously. 

"Don't crash the car," Kyung tells him by way of warning, his warm grin sharpening into a smirk as he leans back in his seat and starts undoing the ties of his sweats. He didn't have time to change earlier, so he's wearing his faded trackpants from his stint in highschool. He could be home now, studying, or eating with a friend, or catching a movie with Jaehyo... but he shoves all those thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrates on what he wants to do, that is, shove his hand in his pants and start jerking himself off, his hand still slick from his own saliva. Kyung purposely keeps his eyes on the road as he strokes himself, head tilted back to bare his throat, adam's apple bobbing as he plays up to his soft moans.

//

Abstractly, Jiho thinks that’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen. In the present moment, however, it’s all he can do to keep the car going straight because the sight of Kyung jerking himself off like Jiho’s not there is so fucking intimate, so fucking pornographic, that he feels himself getting hard all over again. 

“How are you even real?” he breathes, his glance flicking between Kyung and the road.

Because he feels like his eyes are going to fall out of his  _ head _ from looking. Kyung, like this – his head tilted back on the headrest, exposing the pale, milky skin of his throat; his hand flying over his cock with practiced strokes; his eyes fluttering shut, eyelashes fanning against his cheek; the way he furrows his eyebrows as he moans… It all amalgamates into something that has Jiho biting his lip so hard he tastes blood, unable to deal with the sight of this, of Kyung jerking himself off for  _ him. _

//

Kyung laughs at Jiho's question—and that sound? The desperate, throaty noise he makes? That's no longer for show. He closes his eyes and he hears the sounds of Jiho urging him on and he twists his hand faster and faster until that's not enough any more. 

"Maybe I'm not," Kyung says breathlessly, as he looks over Jiho again. He figures if he has the capacity to drive while he's having an orgasm, he can do the same with only one hand. Kyung's own palm isn't just cutting it, anyway, because this isn't just about him getting off, this is about him doing it for Jiho. So he reaches out to snag Jiho's hand from the wheel—and he comes away easily, readily, eyes wide like he's entranced and can't fucking stop looking over lest he misses something—and wraps Jiho's hand over his cock, covering his fingers with Kyung's own. 

The difference is immediate—Jiho's hand is hot and so  _ Jiho _ that a filthy moan escapes him before he even realizes he's making a sound. "Jiho, shit," he groans, eyes slipping shut again so he can concentrate on the feeling of Jiho's hand on his.

//

Jiho’s pretty sure a choked, strangled noise escapes his throat when Kyung wraps his fingers around his dick, but he’s passed the point of caring so he jerks Kyung off with an intensity he didn’t know he was capable in the wake of an orgasm. This is by far the most absurd thing he’s ever done – and he’s done a lot of weird shit – but he doesn’t care when Kyung is moaning for him, rocking his hips into Jiho’s hand, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

If they weren’t on the run Jiho would have pulled over so he could fuck Kyung in the back seat long ago, but as it is this will have to suffice – and right now it’s more than sufficing, because he’s never been this turned on before. Kyung’s other hand falls on his thigh and he digs his nails in, making Jiho gasp and pick up the pace, twisting his wrist in the way he knows makes Kyung crazy… And is rewarded with Kyung moaning his name, the syllables trailing off into nothing, fucking his hand with a renewed vigour, opening his eyes to look at Jiho, the weight of his gaze tangible and heavy.

//

Kyung's hand flies to grip at Jiho's arm when his pace picks up, nails digging in as though he needs to hold on for purchase. He forces his eyes open so he can look at Jiho—focused, intense, mouth hanging open as though  _ he's _ the one being jacked off—and Kyung arches up, hand moving abruptly to cover the head of his cock as Jiho strokes him to completion. He must look a sight now; chest in the air with a violent blush creeping up his shirt and colouring the tip of his ears, his eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open in a silent moan. 

And then he's collapsing back onto his seat, desperately trying to catch his breath as his grip on Jiho's arm loosens. It takes him a few moments before he can wipe his sticky palm on his sweatpants, before he can look over to Jiho with a slow, lazy grin, dragging his clean palm through his hair. 

"I'm gonna miss this car," he says, voice hoarser than usual. He feels like he's going to meld into the seat, anyway, and when it's time to change cars (wherever and whenever the hell that may be), he physically won't be able to get out.

//

Just like all the other times, Jiho commits Kyung’s orgasm to memory; this time he looks different, somehow. Perhaps it’s just the knowledge of the love between them but he seem  _ radiant _ , happy and glowing and fucking gorgeous.

Jiho snorts, wiping his hand on his jeans before turning off cruise control and regaining control of the car, putting his hand back on the steering wheel as he accelerates away. “Yeah? I won’t. I miss my old car.” He turns to pout at Kyung spectacularly. “500 brake horsepower…”

Kyung grins at him, and he reaches down to turn on the radio, not bothering to flick through the stations. “Put on something good,” he tells Kyung, reaching around for the plastic bag of snacks he’d bought that’s languishing on the back seat. “I don’t know what kind of music you listen to.”

//

“You’ll get it back,” Kyung says, lazily watching Jiho through half-mast lids. “Your car. Your life. Everything. I know it.” It’s a promise running on both Jiho’s confession and the orgasm, but he figures both of them can do with a little blind faith, now. Beats wallowing in despair. And honestly, even in this shitty car, Kyung feels like they’re both indestructible. They’ve walked out of two point five separate shit shows in one piece, sort of. Although most of that can be credited to Jiho, so, alright, Kyung can provide the blind faith and Jiho can provide the muscle. 

Then he snatches the bag of snacks from Jiho, just to see the affronted look Jiho puts on. With one hand ripping the bag open using his teeth, he adjusts the dial on the radio with the other, setting it to his favourite all night music station, the one he tunes in to whenever he has to pull an all-nighter and he’d exhausted his own music library. 

It could be so easy to pretend that they had met under other circumstances, that they had a long, unblemished future stretching ahead of them, just like the empty road they were on. And as Kyung belts along to the top twenty pop tunes chart, his palm warm on the back of Jiho’s neck as Kyung feeds him, he does.

//

The half an hour until the next car passes quickly, Jiho turning off the freeway and making turns that he only remembers by some miracle (considering he was last here over a year ago). After a while they pull up to a derelict barn in the middle of nowhere, the only thing providing light the headlights and the moon, shining weakly through a thin layer of clouds. Jiho, with Kyung’s help, transfers all their crap to the new car (a black Kia Cerato), and then pours petrol all over the old one, soaking it.

Their exit is quite dramatic: Jiho, leaning out of the open front door of the Kia, lighting the trail of petrol before gunning it back towards the road. He watches in his rearview mirror as the flames rush towards the car and then take, the whole car igniting in fire before exploding in a theatrical manner more suited to an action movie than real life; Kyung watches the whole thing, hanging off the back of his seat, agog.

After that, the hours meld into one. They listen to the radio for a few until Kyung passes out in the back seat, stretching out as much as he can and pulling Jiho’s jacket over him as a makeshift blanket, at which point Jiho drives onward in silence. His only companion is the snacks and energy drinks, but he doesn’t really mind; driving is enjoyable, and he’s constantly checking if they’re being followed, anyway. The drive is uneventful and he pulls up to the yard of the safehouse several hours later, sitting in the car for a moment and stretching his arms. It’s close to 9 am in the morning, and he knows he’ll have to crash, soon, but for the moment he’s alright. 

This safe house is not dissimilar to the old one, although it’s bigger, only one storey. It’s an old farmhouse, sprawling and delipidated and rustic, and Jiho knows that instead of woods this place has fields spreading out as far as the eye can see – it is a very big plot of land.

Getting out of the car, he stretches his legs, breathing in the country air and relaxing. They weren’t followed and the journey is over, and he can get into bed with Kyung and sleep all fucking day, so he’s feeling incredibly buoyant. He opens the back seat and curls his fingers around Kyung’s ankle, shaking him gently, smiling as Kyung groans and throws an arm over his face. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here.”


	13. Chapter 13

Kyung falls asleep cocooned in the warmth of Jiho’s jacket, watching the back of Jiho’s head as his eyes drift shut. And he dreams of warmth—a bonfire from when he’d been at camp, the flames licking up to a sky scattered with stars—of falling asleep in the back of his father’s car and waking up in his own bed, his mother’s face peering out at him in his hazy drowsiness.

“Wake up,” she says, “you’re not supposed to be here. Wake up.”  _ Wake up _ , and now it’s Jiho’s voice, Jiho’s face swimming into view instead, Jiho’s smile casting a warmth over him like that bonfire had, all those years ago. His mind clears as he yawns and rubs his eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight flooding the car. How many hours had he slept and where the hell were they now? 

“Where’s here?” Kyung asks, and then gets out of the car and realizes that his question is mostly facetious because in front of him stood an old farmhouse, worn and rusted with age. It looks like his grandparent’s farm, from when he was younger, only ten times the size and wore the distinct look of vacancy. Between the both of them, they manage to get all their things into the house.

“How is this even larger than before?” Kyung asks, his voice echoing in the empty living room. The furniture is  _ old _ , once-polished wood now dull with age. There’s a musty smell in the room, and when Kyung draws the heavy curtains open, dust motes fill the room in a frenzied dance. “And exactly how long has it been since someone’s been here?” 

He sets his bag down and looks towards Jiho, who’s rounding the room with a suspicious look on his face. He looks tired, obviously, but in the way that made Kyung feel guilty for passing out for several hours in a row. It’s not like he was the one who’d been fighting for their lives, earlier on. So he beckons Jiho closer, stops still in the middle of all the old furniture and the dust motes and the sunlight streaming in that barely touches their feet and says, “Sleep, I’ll clean up. And I should check on… Jaehyo—” Trailing off, he reaches for where he’d dumped his bag on the coffee table (could it be considered as a coffee table when it was essentially a wooden chest?) and digs around for his phone, pulling it out.

//

Jiho’s good mood evaporates instantly as Kyung pulls out his phone and holds down the button to turn it on, because everything clicks into place right then and there and he realises why they’d found them, why he’d had to kill ten men in quick succession. It’s with a cool rage that he snatches the phone out of Kyung’s hand, drops it on the floor between them and, drawing his pistol from its holster, shoots it twice, holstering his gun again before looking up at Kyung.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks calmly – although he notices his hands are shaking as he rebuckles his holster. “Do you think this is a game, Kyung? Do you think I asked you to go to a payphone because it was  _ fun?” _

He takes a step closer, still keeping his tone cool and calm. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

//

Kyung’s face had already shuttered close the second he snatches Kyung’s phone to decimate it completely. If Kyung’d thought that the two shots ringing through the house was loud, he hadn’t expected for how much  _ louder _ Jiho’s voice would be, even as calm and quiet as he is. Because this isn’t the Jiho that he knows that he’s looking at; it’s the Jiho from the apartment that had turned Kyung’s blood into ice. 

But while he’d been scared that first time—amongst a whole host of other emotions he thought he’d left behind—he’s not now. “What the  _ hell _ are you doing?” Kyung asks, sounding incredulous. Because that phone had been his one contact to the outside world, to  _ home _ , to check on whether or not everyone was going to be there when he came back.  _ If _ he came back at all. The anger surges up at him like a sudden vice and he takes a step back, gesturing at the bits and pieces of metal on the ground, saying, “That’s my  _ phone _ .”

//

“It’s also how the Organisation  _ found _ us, Kyung,” Jiho shoots back, taking a step forward. “That’s why I had to kill ten people. God, how could you be so fucking stupid?”

The rage flows through him, now, and he revels in it, breathing deep and feeling it wreath him. He’s never been this angry before, not in his  _ life _ , and he feels his blood boiling. Because really, after all they’ve been through, Kyung should have known better – and now they’re paying the fucking price, the both of them. Another ten notches on his belt, another ten faces that haunt him, all because of  _ Kyung. _

//

Jiho steps forward but Kyung holds his ground, this time, doesn’t get mad, doesn’t let himself  _ think _ about what he’s saying. A cold calm falls over him as he meets Jiho squarely, thinking about all the time he’d spent watching the strangers whose eyes followed him everywhere he went and how  _ scared _ he was that the bloodshed in the apartment would bleed into his own life.

“Right,” Kyung says, the words spilling out of his mouth instinctively, “because  _ I’m _ expected to know these things somehow, because you expect me to run away from my life and everyone I care about without so much as a backwards glance.” He swallows, realizing that he’s shaking a little from all that anger, from all the indignance that he’s feeling fully for the first time since their mock-fight at the foot of his building, when Jiho’d first dropped him off.  _ Fuck off _ , Kyung’s own voice rings in his own head, permeates the space behind them, and he breathes in before he says, “But I’m not like you.”

//

“Clearly not,” Jiho spits, taking another step closer and then another, glaring down at Kyung. “If you were like me you would at least have some fucking  _ sense _ . And you  _ wanted _ to leave everything behind, don’t fucking play the guilt card. You’re the one who contacted me because you were  _ scared _ ,” he finishes with a sneer.

It’s cruel of him to mock Kyung, he knows, but he doesn’t fucking care. Kyung had endangered both their lives with that stupid fucking stunt, they could have died or got injured or _worse_ – the Organisation’s torture is the worst thing he has ever been through in his entire life and he’d rather be dead than go through it again. Which could have nearly happened. Because of _Kyung_. Jesus Christ.

//

For a second, Kyung’s stunned into silence—that Jiho would take his fears (those nights he’d spent bolting up on his bed and thinking that he’d woken up amongst corpses, those days he’d spent avoiding the outdoors not only because he had his heart shattered into pieces) and turn them against him like this and he laughs, looking away because staring up at Jiho  _ burns _ . He knows how it’d looked like when he’d first contacted Jiho, knows that he’d been clinging onto that bit of hope that whatever Jiho’d felt had been genuine. And now—

“Fuck you,” Kyung returns, his emotions coalescing into a hot ball of anger. “Fuck you for thinking that everyone should be like you. Because you know what? You’re right, I was fucking  _ terrified _ that I wouldn’t make it through the next day. Especially after I saw how they operated.” He’s quiet now, face contorted into an expression of condescension and accusation as he tips a little bit forward to hammer in the last nail in the coffin. “Especially after I saw how  _ you _ killed.”

//

Kyung’s words should make Jiho angry, but instead he’s just exasperated, the urge to reach out and shake some sense into Kyung nearly overpowering him – because if Kyung was just a bit more like him they wouldn’t be here, Jiho wouldn’t be haunted by another ten souls.

“Oh, finally,” he roars, throwing his hands up melodramatically, rolling his eyes with as much vigour as he can muster. “You  _ finally  _ fucking get it. Newsflash, I’m a killer, Kyung. You’ve known this for  _ how  _ long now?” he looks Kyung up and down and scoffs. “Fuck  _ you.  _ Fuck you for not having an ounce of sense in your goddamn head.”

//

Kyung’s reaction is instantaneous and immediate, like a catalyst had been dropped in the middle of his latent anger and the end-point is an eruption equitable to the shots Jiho’d fired at his fucking phone. “I didn’t fucking need it. What the hell would I need to know how to fight off ten different men? Do I look like someone who voluntarily signs up for trouble?” Kyung shouts back, just as loudly, taking another step forward, placing them chest-to-chest as he looks up at Jiho. For the first time, he feels all of that unbridled affection for him turn over itself and his anger colours it accusatory. If he hadn’t taken Kyung’s sweater all those weeks ago, if he hadn’t looked at Kyung like he was someone else completely, then they wouldn’t be here today. 

And just like that, he suddenly can’t stand to look at Jiho, can’t stand to think that his life had turned upside down for… what? A fucking shouting match in the middle of nowhere? “If I didn’t meet you,” Kyung adds, his voice shaking with all that restrained anger, “I wouldn’t even  _ be _ here.” Then he’s turning away, stepping over the broken pieces of his only connection home to head straight for his bag.

//

Oh, how easy it is for Jiho to grab Kyung’s arm and wheel him around, push him back into a wall, his forearm across Kyung’s throat; and oh, how easy it is for him to drive his other fist into the wall next to Kyung’s head, splintering the wood and cutting up his knuckles… Because one thing he’s learned about human beings is they break so damn easily, which is how he knows it’s happening to him.

“If you didn’t meet me,” he breathes quietly, “you would be bored out of your damn mind. Hm? Wouldn’t you?” He tilts his head down to look Kyung in the eyes coldly. “Because I’m exciting. But now you’re in too deep, and you don’t know how to get out. Am I right?”

Jiho knows he is – he can read it in Kyung’s eyes. That fuels his cold resentment, chilling his voice until he doesn’t recognise himself. “That’s fine. If you want to come along for the ride, that’s fine. Just don’t endanger my own fucking life on the way. It’s not a goddamn game.” 

It’s incredibly hypocritical of him, he knows, since they wouldn’t even  _ be _ here if not for him, but the boiling pit of rage in his belly is licking up his spine, making him not himself. He stops short of saying the words he really wants to say –  _ you’re pathetic  _ – and instead laughs in Kyung’s face.

//

Kyung pauses mid-grab for his bag; Jiho’s words strike him like thunder. Because he’s right, isn’t he? That’s why Kyung had been drawn in so helplessly in the first place, like a moth to a godamn explosion. Jiho’d been mysterious, carefully wrapped up to hide all his secrets, and Kyung wanted to be the one to undo him, want to be the one who gets to take apart everything and figure out how he ticks. 

But he knows he hadn’t been alone in that.  _ You saved me _ , Jiho had said, voice shaking, trembling, yet here he was now, cold as ice, immovable, looking self-righteous in his own godamn claims and Kyung… Kyung wants to fucking ruin that, wants to shove Jiho’s fear and uncertainties and his own guilt right back in his face to tell him that he’s not fucking untouchable, that this was a two-way street, that if Kyung was in too deep, Jiho was as fucked as he is.

He spins back around to face Jiho again and they stare at each other—Kyung, chest heaving,  _ livid _ , and Jiho, closed off like a distant thunderstorm. Kyung doesn’t want that; Kyung doesn’t want cold or apathetic, he wants Jiho’s anger to burn him whole, wants Jiho to do  _ something _ except for tell Kyung what he already knows. So twists his hand in the front of Jiho’s shirt and drags him in for an unrelenting kiss, drags him in until his knees hit the back of the stupid coffee table chest. 

“This is what you wanted too, right?” Kyung shoots back heatedly, in between biting kisses. “You wanted to fuck me— All those lies just so you can pretend to be someone you’re  _ not _ , just because you wanted me wrapped around your fucking pinky. Guess what?” He wants more, god, even like this, he wants Jiho even more. “You’re stuck now.”

//

The hurt slides into him like a blade, sharp and painful between his ribs, cutting him open and making him gasp as he kisses Kyung back hopelessly, his hands ripping Kyung’s shirt away so easily, fluttering away like paper in a breeze. Because Kyung’s  _ right _ , he’s right and that stings so, so much – and he won’t tolerate hurt, not now, not like this; so he channels it into anger and scratches his nails down Kyung’s back, not caring if it hurts, hoping it does.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he snarls against Kyung’s lips. “All you have is me.” 

Kyung growls in response, a low and throaty noise, and the primal beast in Jiho nearly throws him against a wall – god, it would be so easy to crush Kyung underfoot like a bug. He is nothing, they’re nothing, and he grabs Kyung’s chin roughly, tilting his head away so Jiho can bite down his neck, feeling Kyung gasp and shudder underneath his lips, feeling Kyung sink his teeth into Jiho’s shoulder in response. He wants to fuck Kyung until he hurts as much as he does; he wants them both to burn in the wake of what he’s feeling.

//

Kyung growls at the pain streaking down his back with the slow drag of Jiho’s nails, but  _ god _ , that didn’t hurt half as much as what Jiho’d said. It hits him like a sucker punch straight to the gut, makes him gasp into Jiho’s kiss, into Jiho’s bite, just so he can  _ feel _ something else; pain, he can do, he can grasp hold onto red hot anger, but refuses to disappear into the black hole that is Woo Jiho. 

So Kyung fights back, grabbing at his hair so he can leave marks down the line of Jiho’s throat, over the scratch marks that he’d made only days earlier, borne out of a different kind of need. He winds his fingers tightly enough that Jiho’s hair turns his flesh white, and he tugs Jiho around just like that, despite their height difference, shoving him back against the ugliest couch he’s ever seen in his life. And then he’s climbing onto Jiho’s lap, pausing for just an infinitesimal second to look over him but quickly aborts that in favour of grabbing Jiho’s cheeks with one hand to draw him into another kiss, teeth sinking into Jiho’s lower lip with the intention to draw blood. If he looks for too long, he’ll give in, and that’s the last thing he wants.

//

Jiho’s pretty sure they’re both bleeding at this point – well, he  _ knows _ they’re both bleeding, because Kyung’s teeth sink into his lip and he tastes blood – but he doesn’t  _ care _ , he just wants them both to  _ hurt _ so he grabs Kyung by the waist and flips him down onto the couch (so easily, Kyung is so fragile underneath his hands), crawling on top of him and pinning Kyung’s arms above his head. 

There’s an undercurrent of fury, of hatred, in the way he bites at Kyung’s nipple, his hand drifting ever-downward, past Kyung’s bellybutton – because, really, who the fuck is Kyung to question who he is, who he pretends to be, when he’s the one who said Jiho was more than just a killer anyway? The lies and truth blur together into one big smear, until he doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down – all he knows is this, the way Kyung growls at him, struggling against his hand, struggling to  _ touch _ Jiho, struggling to hurt him. Jiho kisses him, instead, making Kyung arch up into him, so desperate even when he’s furious.

That makes him chuckle softly into Kyung’s neck, his tongue flicking out to lick a line up his skin, tasting blood. “So easy,” he whispers, his words an echo of a conversation long ago.

//

Kyung stops struggling, the fight draining out of him at Jiho’s words. It’d been dread he’d felt, when Jiho’d spat them out first, and they crawled over his skin and stuck like leeches, sucking him dry one day at a time. He thought he was over this. He thought he’d left it behind, but it still lances through him anyway, splits him in fucking half, so much so that he can only lie there and accept the pain Jiho has to dole out to him, teeth sharp and hot against his throat.

And then he’s sliding his hand into Jiho’s hair again—because that’s all he can do, isn’t it? tug on Jiho and hope he  _ looks _ , even for just a second, at Kyung—forcing him to meet Kyung’s eyes so he can see the expression on Kyung’s face as he laughs and says, “For you? Anything.” The worst part is that that isn’t even a lie, that Jiho could choose to string Kyung out and leave him stranded on high ground with no way home and Kyung would gladly go along. It’s what he’s been doing all this time, anyway, and he can sign himself away to that fact. 

So he wraps his legs tightly around Jiho’s waist, tugging him close as he digs his fingernails in Jiho’s shoulder, gouging at flesh. Then Kyung kisses him—it’s sweet for a moment, sweet until he remembers it’s not supposed to be—then he’s kissing the cold words that spill from Jiho’s lips away, kissing away the metallic tang of blood, kissing until he leaves nothing but the taste of Kyung.

//

Jiho knows instantly he’s won, by the way Kyung sags, all the fight going out of him at once, by the way he kisses Jiho dejectedly, the way he whispers sadly. And the worst part is Jiho doesn’t even feel bad; he feels  _ vindicated _ , he feels proud, and he hums against Kyung’s lips, wanting  _ more. _

He pulls back for a second, just enough time to rake his hands down Kyung’s chest, pulling off his sweatpants and dropping them on the floor, yanking his own shirt over his head and settling back down. The amount of skin contact between them is heady and Jiho allows himself to sink into it, the rage curling in his fingertips, making him press dimples into Kyung’s flesh, his hips, his side – anywhere he can reach, desperately trying to leave a mark that says  _ I was here _ and  _ this is mine _ … 

The love and hatred he feels combine in his gut, twisting, making him feel slightly sick as he kisses Kyung over and over again, desperate to prompt a reaction; he wants to throw Kyung across the room just as much as he wants to fuck him, and perhaps those desires are one and the same. What they’d fought about originally is lost, blown away somewhere in the heat of it all – he can’t bring it in himself to care anymore, because it’s all he can do to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through his fingers. Hoisting himself up on his knees, he trails his hand over Kyung’s chest, marvelling at the small spots of blood  _ everywhere _ from where he’d bitten, scratched, and curls his hand around Kyung’s cock, jerking him off with an intensity that he knows is just a conduit for his anger. 

//

Kyung gasps the moment Jiho wraps his hand around his cock, arches up out of an instinctive reaction towards Jiho. Easy, so easy, he remembers thinking back on the roof, in the aquarium, on the steps of the church, but it’s a different  _ easy _ now. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue and it isn’t blood.

So Kyung tugs Jiho’s hand from his dick— _ you don’t get to do this _ , he thinks—smiling acidly up as he drags Jiho back down again. Turning his head, he licks clean the sparse stains of blood down from the tip of Jiho’s finger to the heel of his palm, and then lets his lips hover over Jiho’s pulse point—hammering away rapidly like it’s trying to leap out of his skin—before sinking his teeth against the bone of Jiho’s wrist, breaking skin and drawing blood.

“Just fuck me,” he says, voice low and rough, quiet enough that his request stays trapped between them, floating,  _ wrecked _ . There’s no other word for it, because he’s hard and straining and he still fucking wants  _ Jiho _ , that despite it all, he needs to feel the clash of their bodies together just so, paradoxically enough, he can forget Jiho. “You said no lies, right? Then get straight to the fucking point.”

//

Wordlessly, Jiho leans and snags his bag from where it was lying, dumped and forgotten at the end of the sofa; his fingers close upon the lube and condoms he’d shoved in there. With no ceremony and c _ ertainly _ no romance, he takes off his jeans and crawls back onto the lounge, kneeling to roll the condom over his cock, lubing up his fingers and pushing two inside Kyung, smirking as he gasps.  _ Too easy _ .

Wrapping Kyung’s legs around his waist, he lowers himself down and pushes in, not bothering to draw this out; they both know what they need, and they’re not going to find it without this. Kyung moans, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands skittering over Jiho’s back, and Jiho closes his eyes and lets his lips fall to Kyung’s neck as he thrusts, losing himself, the anger flowing between them, palpable and real. It’s there in the way that Kyung bites him over and over, it’s there in the way that Jiho growls, and it’s there in the way he curls his hand around Kyung’s neck, his bleeding wrist smearing blood everywhere – not pressing down, not hurting him, just reminding him that he  _ could _ .

//

The moment Jiho closes his hand over Kyung’s neck—palm searing hot for how light his touch is—he knows he that he’s at Jiho’s mercy in more ways than one. It’s then that he closes his eyes and exhales, letting himself feel all the pain that’d been scratched onto him, pressed onto him, the pain that’s folded in on the inside that he hadn’t thought about, like a healing bruises kneaded into with the hard point of a knuckle. 

_ Fuck _ , he thinks,  _ Jiho _ . But aloud, he says, “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Then he’s covering Jiho’s hand with his own, pressing in harder as Jiho fucks him, thrusts short and fast and everything Kyung  _ needs _ . He feels like he’s going insane, like he’s going to lose it completely just looking at Jiho. In this fevered haze, the last few days feel like something out of a dream. Maybe he’d gotten knocked out and never woke up again. Maybe Jiho’s just a fucking mirage. 

But then Jiho shifts his hips and thrusts just  _ right _ and Kyung groans with the pleasure, feeling his adam’s apple bob against Jiho’s palm, restricted. Kyung’s free hand flies to press against Jiho’s chest, right over his heart, and he gasps more than says: “I won’t break.”

//

_ You’re already broken _ , Jiho thinks.  _ We both are _ . But he does what Kyung wants him to, digs his fingers into Kyung’s neck for a few seconds and releasing, hearing Kyung gasp and cling to him, so he does it once more, holding for a little longer.

He’s never done this to someone before, but he  _ has _ choked someone to death, so he knows what not to do, where not to press, and he’s constantly aware of letting Kyung breathe – even if the anger he feels tugs at him to curl his fingers harder, for longer. How can hate and love get confused so easily? He finds he doesn’t even  _ know _ what he’s feeling, not like this, not when he’s fucking Kyung primally, animalistically, one hand in his hair and the other around his neck. 

It all runs a little too close in his head, too close for comfort; he slides his hand away from Kyung’s neck, down between them to curl around Kyung’s cock, to jerk him off in time with his thrusts. His breath huffs on Kyung’s neck as he steadily loses the threads that tie him together until he’s completely lost and floating, not even knowing who he is anymore. All there is is this hatred and love that are so interwoven Jiho can’t tell where one begins and the other ends; he can’t tell where he ends and Kyung begins, and perhaps it will be like that for the rest of eternity.

//

Blood rushes to his ears the second Jiho complies and his hand tightens into a chokehold that has Kyung spluttering, eyes rolling back and shut, biting down on his lip from a sense of trepidation and fear he hadn’t felt more keenly than he did in this moment. It makes his skin heat up, makes him arch up even when Jiho removes his hand to stroke him instead. Kyung loses himself in the feeling of Jiho, then, arm curling around Jiho’s neck—the gentlest he’s been—fingers dragging through Jiho’s hair as his moans sound less and less like moans and more and more like helpless sobs.

He comes with his face pressed to Jiho’s shoulder, with his teeth sinking onto the curve of Jiho’s neck, with the taste of Jiho on his lips. Then he lets go to tense up against Jiho, neck straining into a curved line, like an offering up to Jiho.

When he collapses back onto the couch, it’s to the sight of Jiho looking down at him intensely, his face twisted up into an expression Kyung hasn’t seen before. And in his post-orgasmic haze, Kyung brushes his knuckles against the apple of Jiho’s flushed cheek, blinking blearily as he’s fucked.

//

It only takes him a few thrusts after Kyung comes for his own orgasm to hit him, too, leaving him blindsided and gasping and writhing, tugging at Kyung’s hair just so he has something to hold on to. There’s no words between them; Kyung’s name, which usually comes so easily to his lips, is conspicuously absent as he keens wordlessly, the last of his acute anger vanishing in the wake of it all.

His arms give out from underneath him and he collapses onto Kyung’s chest, closing his eyes and just existing – not feeling, not  _ allowing _ himself to feel anything, because he knows if he does it’s just going to be a shitshow. So he just lies there, feeling Kyung breathe in and out, relieved that they’re still alive, that they’ve made it out alive, despite Kyung’s stupidity.

But then he opens his eyes and sees the beginning flush of bruises around Kyung’s neck, and sees the blood that’s smeared over them both, and he’s so disgusted with himself that he pulls away, tidying himself up and getting dressed the fastest he’s ever put on clothes before, unable to look Kyung in the eye.

He heads out the door and slides into the front seat of the car, not knowing where he’s going, just knowing that he needs to go  _ somewhere, _ somewhere that’s not that fucking stifling house. He looks down at his wrist and sticks it in his mouth, licking the wound to close it, slightly stupefied at the violence they’d both just thrown at each other.

//

The room doesn’t look like anything’d changed at all.    
  
Except, yeah, there’s the broken pieces of his phone on the ground. And there’s blood on this couch now, though it’s so hideously patterned in floral that you can’t tell a blood stain from a petal. And then there’s Kyung, watching Jiho rapidly pull himself together just so he can leave, like this had been a fairly awkward one-night stand and Jiho can’t stay any longer.   
  
When Jiho disappears beyond the door, Kyung flings his arm over his face and, for the first time in a long time, wills himself to disappear. He’s never had it like this before—all intense and clawing at each other, wanting to  _ hurt _ , waiting for something to break, not knowing if something had already broken. So he stays still, as if trying to feel out the aftermath, sunbathing in the spot on the couch while he tries not to think of everything that had transpired between them that was now going to  _ stay _ between them, tries not to think about Jiho’s voice ghosting over his ear dripping with derision, tries not to think about anything at all except to get up and get into the shower because he’s crusted with blood and come and everything you don’t want to be covered in when you’re trying not to feel like absolutely shit.   
  
Eventually, he forces himself up, only to find himself squatting by the remnants of his phone, scattered all over the wooden floor and the dusty carpet rug. He’s never going to see any of the messages that Jaehyo might have left him, doesn’t know what’s happening in his life now that it’s been turned upside down and inside out. For all Jiho may wax poetic about Kyung saving him, Jiho is, quite literally, his lifeline, his way back into the real world. But he’s sure he’s fucked that over now. Distantly, he sweeps up the metallic pieces with the cloth of his broken shirt and dumps it in the kitchen.   
  
He spends the next five minutes wandering the house blankly, still unable to shake off the coat of desperation that hangs onto him like a second skin. It’s over now, he tells himself firmly, in all senses of the word. They’d talked a big talk last night, half-drunk from a lack of sleep and spurred on by the warm lights in that godamn fast food joint. But when it comes down to it, how much of it was Jiho refusing to let go of a piece of normalcy that Kyung represented? How much of it was real?    
  
“Just forget him,” Jaehyo would say, “I’ll hook you up with someone else. Did I tell you about the chick I met in the queue at the shop this mornin—” Kyung laughs to himself, then, dragging his hand over and over again just to feel  _ something _ that isn’t the suffocation of being in this godamn house, alone. Jaehyo isn’t here, and the possibility of Kyung never seeing him nor Taeil again is likely. Kyung doesn’t even want to think about his family.    
  
The bathroom ends up being located in the furthest corner of the house, beyond yet another corridor that architecturally didn’t make sense. The whole house is lit in that eerie, quiet way a room was it hasn’t been disturbed by anything except the sunlight filtering in weakly through the dusty windows. Kyung locates the light switch easily enough, and is surprised to find that it still works. When he passes the mirror, he catches sight of himself: ghostly pale and stained with varying shades of red that has him doing a double-take as he lets the taps run out any possible dirt or grime or rust.    
  
The water is freezingly cold when he steps in, but it’s a welcome shock to his system, numbing out all the pain he could’ve felt as the water washed over his cuts and bruises. It’s only here that it hits him why Jiho’d been so mad, that the picture of Jiho shaking—covered in blood and sliding into the darkness of the car, staring at Kyung like he can’t quite believe he’s there—comes back to him that he inhales in a way that sounds like a gasp. How many men had that been? Eight? Ten? Twelve? He presses his lips so tightly together that he almost draws blood again, trembling under the cold spray of the bronze taps.   
  
He tells himself he doesn’t cry.    
  
By the time he exits the bathroom, still slightly damp from having sat on the toilet seat, trying to get his nerves under control again, his head is pounding like he’d woken up from another knock to the head. He goes in search of Jiho’s bag then, ignoring everything else his fingers brush over (clothes, snacks, sketchbook) and goes straight for the bottles of pills, squinting until he finds one that resembles the one Jiho’d offered him in another room, in another safehouse. Doesn’t matter if it’s quite right anyway—he unscrews the lid and pops two into his mouth, swallowing them dry before getting dressed.    
  
There’s a possibility, too, that Jiho might not come back. That in the end, even after all the things they’ve said, Jiho’s right: Kyung  _ is _ a liability, as much of a danger to Jiho is as Jiho is to Kyung. Because if they hadn’t met—hadn’t sparked like flint and set a fire raging—then Jiho wouldn’t be in this mess either. Body aching, Kyung gets up and stares at the couch for the moment, then turns away. There’s no way he’s sitting there again. Instead, his tired brain leads him to the kitchen, slumping down by the corner of the counter where he wouldn’t be in any line of sight of any of the windows—instructions long invalid—and slumps down, hugging his knees to himself in a blank daze until he eventually falls asleep.

//

No matter how fast Jiho drives in the shitty little Kia, taking it to the red line, he can’t escape the bruises on Kyung’s neck, the blood covering the both of them. Hurtling down these back country roads at 150 kph isn’t enough – he doesn’t think it will ever be enough – so he manages to navigate his way to a town, and stumbles into the bottle shop. He must look a sight – he’s bloody and mussed and his shirt is on backwards, not to mention the gun nestling in its holster under his arm – but the wizened old shopkeeper doesn’t even bat an eye as he buys a bottle of vodka and heads out, his hands shaking as he hands over the money. On the way out, as he’s heading back to his car, he spies a phone shop out of the corner of his eye and, after hesitating, heads inside and buys a phone and simcard, pocketing them both as he cracks open the vodka.

That’s how he spends a good few hours – although, if he’s honest, time seems to lose all meaning. He drinks and drives, drinks and drives, until everything is hilarious and drifting the car around a bend is the most fun he’s ever had until he puts it in a bush.

And then he’s lying in a ditch at the side of the road, blinking up at the sun, the now-empty  vodka bottle clutched in one hand and his dagger in the other – the same dagger he’d used to chop vegetables with, the same dagger Kyung had clutched desperately to.

Oh. Kyung. 

It had been easy to forget him when Jiho had been driving around; it was all he could do to focus on keeping the car on the road. But now? Here in this ditch, the grass tickling his ear and the knowledge of what had transpired between them suddenly overwhelmingly present – it all comes rushing back to him, making him sob openly in the air, heartbroken. The things he’d said – the things he’d  _ done _ – the things they’d  _ both _ done, they all echo around him, not going away even when he rolls onto his side, flinging the vodka bottle away in a fit of rage. Why couldn’t they have a moment of peace? Why, after they’d – they’d admitted their love for each other, couldn’t they just be  _ happy _ for a time? Is that too much to ask?

He knows the answer to that question as soon as he asks, and clutches the dagger tightly to his chest. No, he doesn’t deserve happiness. What is it Kyung had said? Back in the restaurant?  _ You think that all that at the house is what you are, but you’re not. I know you’re not.  _ Well, they both know how much of a lie that is now.

He’s crying, he realises abstractly as he holds the dagger in the air, turning it back and forth so the blade catches the sun’s rays. Funny. He hasn’t cried for ages. No point shedding tears for his victims; no point shedding tears for the dead. But now there’s someone to live for,  _ something _ to live for, and he’s fucked it all up, just as he does with everything else in his life.

With no hesitation, no trepidation, he digs the tip of the dagger into the wound that Kyung had left on his wrist, dragging it downwards, revelling in the pain that somehow grounds him and frees him at the same time, making him gasp,  _ alive. _

**

It’s probably around three pm when he gets back to the house (the car looking a lot worse for wear), or at least, he thinks, because he can’t remember which way is north anymore. He makes his way noisily through every room, finally finding Kyung slumped on the floor in the kitchen fast asleep.

He looks incredibly beautiful in sleep, as he always does; all the worry and stress that’s usually etched on his face gone. Jiho can’t stop himself from kneeling on the floor in front of him and touching Kyung on the face, running his thumb over Kyung’s lips, his cheekbones, his eyelids. Kyung doesn’t wake up, however, and faint alarm bells begin to ring in his drunk head – but they only start to blare when he shakes Kyung, first on the leg and then grabbing him by the chin, and he doesn’t wake up. He fumbles for Kyung’s pulse – he’s still alive, still breathing - and finds it slow but steady.

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ His instincts are screaming at him to panic so he lifts Kyung up (nearly falling over in the process) and carries him to one of the bedrooms, dropping him on the bed carelessly and deliberately to see if he wakes up. He doesn’t – in fact he’s so limp and boneless that Jiho is starting to panic when his eyes fall upon his bag and the little bottle of oxys lying on top.

He heaves himself onto the bed next to Kyung and breathes a sigh of relief. He’s tempted to reach for an oxy himself, but he knows he’ll probably literally die if he has any, and he’s not reached that point, not yet.

Instead he flings an arm over his eyes and cries silently, mourning the loss of all they had.

//

He wakes up in a different room, feeling strangely detached from his own body. Okay, yeah, his eyes work, those open and he’s met with a white-washed ceiling with an old looking fan hanging dustily from the ceiling. The smell of alcohol and metal permeate the room and for a second, Kyung thinks he’s still dreaming. It doesn’t help that he sees Jiho when he turns his head, sprawled over on his side, leaning just the slightest towards Kyung.   
  
He’s clutching loosely onto a phone, Kyung realizes, and he’s not sure  _ why _ at all. The phone looks brand new, clear sticker still stuck to its front with the label that reads  _ PLEASE PEEL WITH CARE _ . But what catches Kyung’s eye is the bright maroon drying and crusting around Jiho’s wrist, like some kind of macabre bracelet. Kyung’s heart stops in his throat—he doesn’t remember doing that, doesn’t remember tearing at Jiho’s skin until he drew that much blood. What different is he, then, from all the other people in Jiho’s life? From all those other circumstances in Jiho’s life that’d pushed him down his path? He’s going to be just that: another strike in Jiho’s score book.   
  
There’s really no reason why he should do anything about it, really—it’s already clotting over from what Kyung can see, so it’s not like Jiho’s going to die. (He doesn’t let his eyes drift any further up to take in Jiho’s blotchy face, the way he looked as though he’d been sobbing his godamn eyes out, because it isn’t fair, either, not when Kyung didn’t have anything left in him to cry.) But then he considers the fact that he’s in bed, now, that Jiho hadn’t just left him in the… where had he been before this? In the kitchen, on the floor with its patterned tiles, that Jiho had carried him all the way here, and—   
  
_ No _ , he tells himself, putting a stopper on his feelings,  _ no no no no no no. _ It’s this sort of shit that’d gotten them into trouble in the first place, and it’s this sort of shit that would continue to fuck them up.  _ No no no no _ , he keeps telling himself as he operates on autopilot, getting up from the bed in search of Jiho’s bag, grabbing the same materials Jiho’d used to check on his head wound. This was, ironically, the only thing he’d had experience in, given the amount of shit he and Jaehyo had a tendency to fall into. So he lets his experience kick in gear and take over as he drops the phone Jiho’s holding to the other side of the bed and gets to work cleaning and dressing Jiho’s wound.    
  
It’s with a morbid sense of relief that he realizes he didn’t do this. The bitemarks he’d left are there, curved and clean, red dashed lines against Jiho’s pale wrist. But then there’s a second gash over it, straight, this time, deeper, that when Kyung puts a little pressure on it as he wipes it clean, it starts bleeding all over again.    
  
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, quickly grabbing a cotton square and compresses the wound, hoping not to wake Jiho up. He tries not to think about how their situation seems a little like this—a barely healed wound torn open all over again—because he might blanch and throw up all over the bedsheet. “ _ Fuck _ .” When he glances up to check if Jiho’s still asleep, his heart stops because Jiho’s looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

//

Jiho’s still drunk – he’s still drunk and there’s a stabbing pain in his arm and when he opens his eyes Kyung is swabbing at his wound, swearing.

“Ow,” Jiho murmurs, pulling his arm close to him and cradling it to his chest, stupidly not wanting Kyung to see his shame, to know he’s done this to himself. “Got you a phone.” 

The words come out mangled, but he struggles up onto his elbow and spots the phone on the bed and not in his hand where he  _ swears _ it was. “Sim card, too,” he slurs, fishing in his pocket for the sim card and slapping it on top of the phone. “There,” he declares, like it’s all fixed.

Except it’s not, is it? He’s still fucking bleeding and Kyung is looking at him with an expression Jiho’s never seen before and that he’s too drunk to decipher, and he wonders how things can go so wrong in a matter of hours. He sits up properly and moans as his head pounds, squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around his waist. He needs to dress his wound, he  _ knows _ that, but when he reaches backwards for his medical supplies he accidentally touches Kyung’s hand instead and jumps away like he’s been burned. He’s terrified of touching Kyung, of hurting him – because Jiho can see the bruises that ring his neck, faint shades of violet that contrast starkly to the pale of his skin, and he hates himself for it.

//

_ He’s drunk _ , Kyung registers, resisting the mammoth urge to roll his eyes. Glancing between the phone and Jiho, as if either one of them might blow up in his face, Kyung reaches for Jiho’s wrist again, now bleeding freely because he’d been stupid enough to mess with it without thinking about just how  _ deep _ it went. 

“Thanks,” he says, civil, polite, because he didn’t grow up without manners. And anyway, any residual antagonization had evaporated the second Jiho flinched from him, like it physically repulsed him to touch Kyung. He didn’t know what he was going to do with the phone—text Jaehyo and tell him that he’d lost his old one and proceed to wait for Jaehyo to scream at him in emojis? Or was texting not allowed either, lest someone else was watching Jaehyo? “Let me. You can’t do it with one hand.” 

And wasted, he adds, but not aloud. It’s going to be a bitch to heal; he knows this because he has a matching scar on his palm, except that came from a harmless cooking accident. At least it’s clean now and all he has to do is stop it from bleeding so godamn much so he can wrap it up. Trust Jiho to injure himself while he’s out drinking.  _ Where’s your self-preservation now? _ Kyung wants to ask, but stays silent as he soaks up the cotton balls in antiseptic wash and works his fingers gently over the new blood, impressed that his hands absolutely do not shake considering how much he feels like he’s trying to contain an implosion. When it’s clean again, he presses a fresh square of cotton gauze over it once more, staring at it in an attempt to avoid looking at Jiho.

//

Jiho sways slightly as Kyung dresses his wrist coolly, professionally; that hurts, more than when he dabs the gash with antiseptic. It feels like they’ve taken two steps forward, ten steps backward, and he can’t  _ stand _ it, so he looks down at the floor until Kyung’s finished, despair confounding him.

“Thanks,” he slurs, wanting to rip the bandage off and go  _ deeper _ because at least then the pain was  _ his _ and it was  _ controllable _ . “Use the… text whoever you want, doesn’t matter anymore.” He gets up and holds his wrist close to his chest, letting his hair fall into his face as he backs away, so he can’t see anything of Kyung. 

There comes no reply so his drunk brain – two steps ahead of his tongue, as per usual – blurts out “I love you,” before he remembers they’re not really in a place to say that so he follows up with a weak, “sorry,” before turning tail and fleeing out of the room.

Jiho ends up in the bedroom furthest away from Kyung, curled into a ball and shaking, the dagger clutched in his hand. He’s not doing anything with it, he’s just holding it – and it’s warm and comforting, unlike the way Kyung had touched him, businesslike and closed-off, cold and not him at all. But then, Jiho realises as he shakes, his teeth chattering, he doesn’t deserve to feel the real Kyung – not after the things he’d said, the things he  _ did. _ He closes his eyes and slips away once more, because the faces in his dreams are better than the way Kyung was looking at him, after all.

//

It’s the second time that day that Kyung watches Jiho slip out beyond the door and out of Kyung’s reach, leaving behind the phone and the card and a pile of blood-soaked cotton wool and Kyung with his own suffocating feelings. Fuck.

It’s not fair that Jiho looks like he’s collapsing into himself, like he’s trying to shrink smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left of him. It’s not fair when  _ he’d _ been the one to say that Kyung was—that he hadn’t—and to say  _ I love you _ in a drunken haze? Kyung forces himself to focus on cleaning up and dumping the supplies, wincing when he stretches out because he’s so fucking  _ sore _ , not just his muscles, but his skin aches and stings under the material of his shirt. A quick exploration with the tips of his fingers reminds him that, yeah, having pretty violent sex does that to you. He ends up shucking his shirt and picking up his phone to pad back outside, where Jiho was nowhere to be seen. The car they’d driven in was, however, still outside, parked haphazardly in the middle of a long driveway. Kyung breathes a sigh of relief; he doesn’t know what to say to Jiho, didn’t know how to respond to that hanging  _ I love you _ and the even quicker  _ sorry _ that came after except with a bitter, unfair  _ do you even know what love is? _

So he deviates towards the kitchen instead, grabbing the glass of much needed water and downing it in one go, and then another glass, and then another glass. He’s hungry, now, desperate for something to do that isn’t focused on wallowing on the events of the afternoon and finds himself cracking open tin cans of questionable instant food and heating them up in a pot that looks older than himself. Without quite realizing it, he’d heated up enough food for two people and ends up portioning his own share onto the lid, just so he can take the pot and a glass of water and wander around the house again in search of Jiho. When Kyung finally finds him—fast asleep holding a dagger that’s stained red at the tip, alarmingly enough—he sets the food and the glass by his bedside table, hovering for a second before making the snap decision to take the knife away. He leaves it by the pot because he doesn’t  _ know _ what to do with it; looking at it made him feel sick, and he quickly rushes out of the room and back into the safety of the kitchen. 

He slots the sim card into the phone and turns it on, clicking through the start-up menu as he eats. The food tastes like mud, but that has less to do with his current emotional state and more of the fact that it’d probably been a decade since it’d seen the light of the day. He debates texting Jaehyo, debates sending him an  _ i’m ok _ message, but decides that that’s just cruel. Had he been the one in Jaehyo’s shoes—and thank  _ god _ it’s Kyung sitting on this side of the line instead of him—he’d have been worried sick. So he finishes eating and washes up to give some semblance of having his life in order, then snags a jacket and heads straight out to sit on the steps of the house. 

Night had already fallen by the time he’s out, the cool wind like balm on his raw skin, with no hint of headlights closing in on them in the distance. ( _ Yet _ , he tells himself grimly, and then immediately feels the crushing guilt of his own mistake.) It takes him three tries to get Jaehyo’s number right and Jaehyo picks up with a wary, “Hello?” as though Kyung might be a telemarketer of some sort. The overwhelming  _ normalcy _ of it all has Kyung laughing into the phone, and after a moment of silence, Jaehyo shoots back a, “Bastard, I thought you were  _ dead _ .”

_ You don’t even know the half of it _ , Kyung thinks dimly as he picks at his food. They spend five minutes talking about how Jaehyo’d expertly deflected everyone’s questions on Kyung’s departure and the rest of the conversation arguing about tourist destinations in Thailand because Kyung lies and says that’s where he’s going next. It’s easier to bet Jaehyo that Kyung isn’t going slip and fall over a waterfall than it is to confess that he’s scared and alone and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. Saying any of those aloud—or, worse yet, talking about Jiho—would just drag Jaehyo into the mess, and Kyung wants to keep all their conversations like this: light, airy, with nothing but humour punctuating each sentence. Halfway through the conversation, he realizes that Jiho might not have bought a charger, and this might be his last contact with Jaehyo yet and has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting out to ask Jaehyo to take care of his own sorry ass since Kyung isn’t around to kick it. Instead, Kyung tells him that he’ll bring him back the ugliest souvenir he can find when he comes back. Jaehyo retaliates by telling Kyung to migrate to Thailand, because having Kyung’s bed as extra desk space is more beneficial to him than Kyung would ever be.

It’s been a long time since he laughed like this—bent over with tears pricking in his eyes, so caught up in the conversation that he doesn’t notice he’s halfway to yelling. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because all he’s surrounded with is a wide stretch of empty space.

//

When Jiho wakes, he finds food and a glass of water on his bedside table, and as he sits up blearily, dragging a hand through his hair (still drunk, although he’s finally starting to sober up), he bursts into tears all over again at the kindness of Kyung’s gesture. He doesn’t deserve it, and he can’t handle that thought right now, so he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

When Jiho wakes, the food has cooled somewhat, his head pounds, and all he can hear is the sound of Kyung’s laughter, echoing from somewhere out the front of the house. It stings, that laughter – it  _ hurts _ because he knows Kyung must be talking to Jaehyo or Taeil or his family, people who matter to him… People who aren’t  _ him _ . He turns to the food and debates whether to eat it or not for a few moments –  _ I don’t deserve this _ vs  _ I’m starving  _ – before his stomach wins out and he reaches for it, snarfing it down in a matter of minutes.

When Jiho sleeps, he dreams of nothing: shifting blackness, illuminating nothing, shadows swirling around him insidiously.

When Jiho wakes – again – it’s sometime during the night and he’s  _ finally _ sober, nursing the worst headache in the fucking world. He gets up (albeit slowly) and pads around the house, checking every room, although he knows where Kyung will be – and finds him, correctly, asleep in the bed Jiho had put him in, the covers tucked up around his chin, all the worries of the day gone.

Jiho stands there and watches him for a while, just watching the measured way Kyung’s chest rises and falls, watches how he rolls over, flinging a hand across the bed violently. Jiho wonders if Kyung is punching him in his dreams, too, and turns away, feeling slightly sick.

When Jiho leaves, he stumbles out the back door, pulling his holster over his head and not knowing where he’s going only that he needs to breathe, needs to be out in the open. The house is stifling with just the two of them like this, and he’s had enough sleep to last a lifetime, so all he can do is walk, breathing in the country air and feeling the moonlight on his face. 

//

Kyung hadn’t dreaded waking up this much since he was in grade school; that was the year he and Jaehyo had spent a large chunk of their time playing truant only to have their efforts pay off in the form of big fat Fs on their report cards. His mother had put him on chores duty for an entire  _ month _ . Thinking about that now overcomes him with such a wave of homesickness that, for a moment, he just closes his eyes and blanks everything else out.

He eventually forces himself out of bed. It’s not like he can keep avoiding Jiho in here. So he rummages around in his bag for his softest hoodie and pulls it on, making sure to draw the neckline close to his throat, where he knows there are bruises there, ugly and glaring and very much a reminder of what had gone down yesterday. 

_ Okay _ , he tells himself bracingly, and then makes up approximately three different starts to a conversation he may or may not have with Jiho. It pays to be prepared, anyway. But when he walks out and catches sight of Jiho curled up on a window seat wearing a look of absolute concentration with his sketchbook on his lap, Kyung forgets even his own name. He looks beautiful cast aglow, all of the anger and derision that’d poured out of him yesterday fading in the bright sunshine while Kyung stands there, stock-still, frozen, trying to look away but helplessly unable to. 

This shouldn’t be that hard. All Kyung wants to do is thank him for the phone, again, then ask about their plans, and then maybe ask after his wrist. An apology seems weighty now, like stuff better left for the darkness of the night, so Kyung decides to shelve that as he plops down in front of Jiho’s feet, subconsciously making sure that they aren’t touching.

“Can I see?” he asks, instead of his planned, semi-well-thought out questions, his fingers curling and uncurling from the edge of the seat, not knowing why he’s nervous.

//

Jiho’d probably walked a solid four or five kilometers that night, just him and the moon, alone together. He’d walked until his feet hurt, and then he’d turned around and walked right back – because he couldn’t leave Kyung, not now. He’s in way too deep for that, the both of them.

When he’d stumbled back to the house, all he could do was curl up on a window seat with his sketchbook and begin drawing, rough sketches of all he’d seen on his walk, thanking God he’d had the sense to bring his colour pencils with him. He’d started off simple, drawing the moon, heavy and swollen; he’d drawn the various types of grasses and flowers he’d come across on the way; he’d even drawn some deer he’d startled and sent bounding away into the night. 

And then he’d zoned out and started drawing Kyung; just bits and pieces of him, like the way his hair fell over his forehead, the way he’d looked so peaceful in sleep on the kitchen floor, a detail of his fingers, digging into Jiho’s forearm. There’s a full portrait in there, too, one he’s particularly proud of but that makes his heart hurt: Kyung, starting straight through the paper and into his soul, looking haunted, with bruises wrapped around his neck. 

He’s in the middle of drawing his own wrist – pale and milky with a raised bite mark and a gash leaking startling crimson straight down the middle – when Kyung flops down in front of him and asks to see, making him jump a little bit, looking up from the paper with surprise. 

Kyung’s wearing a hoodie, the neckline shadowing his throat, trying and failing to hide the bruises that make Jiho’s stomach lurch to see. His expression is unreadable, troubled; wordlessly, Jiho flips back to the first page of his most recent drawings and hands it over, sticking his thumbnail in his mouth and chewing, watching Kyung as he looks at the sketches.


	14. Chapter 14

He’s surprised at the surprise he feels when Jiho willingly gives him the sketchbook, looking even more nervous than Kyung’d felt. His stomach flips as he takes it, glancing apprehensively up at Jiho, and then back down at the book again. There’s a lot of scenery, at first, a lot of pages lined with picture after picture of the countryside. They look a little like souvenirs a douchebag would gift to someone once they’re back from their holiday at an idyllic seaside village. His fingers drift across the delicately coloured flora, petals angled under the influence of an invisible sun.

And then he’s back to seeing his own face staring out of the page at him again. He doesn’t linger over those—how intimate some of them were, how they couldn’t be replicated in the here and the now, how, when Jiho draws Kyung now, he has to account for the gap between them too—gulping as he flips the page over, hyper aware of Jiho’s gaze on the side of his head, fixed on the line of his throat that has Kyung adjusting his hoodie as he hands the book back to Jiho.

“Thought you’d be shittier with a bad wrist,” Kyung says, trying to smile and probably ends up with something else rather than what he’d been aiming for, judging by the look on Jiho’s face, “I guess talent is talent.” He’s aware he’s rambling, now, so he bites on the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to reign in the questions about the drawings of him. No matter how he thinks about it, he’s not ready to hear Jiho’s answer yet, whatever the hell that may be. _Ask him the next thing, then_ , he tells himself, but he draws a blank on the questions he’d planned, and ends up saying, “There was blood on your knife, last night.”

//

Kyung’s trying to smile, but it looks bitter, like he’s just swallowed something sour and it’s colouring all his features; Jiho drops his head and clutches his wrist closer, tilting it so it’s out of view of Kyung. They’ve both seen the wound a million times, and they both know how it got there, so why Kyung’s insisting on asking he’s not sure. To rub it in? To draw it out? To make Jiho flush hot with shame, like he is now?

“Yeah,” he replies, digging his fingers into the wound deliberately, making it hurt. “It’s mine.”

//

“Oh,” Kyung says, fingers digging even harder into the seat now because if they weren’t, he’d be reaching across to touch Jiho now, to unfurl him from how tightly he was holding himself, when Kyung doesn’t know if that’s okay anymore. What was the protocol after a fight—no, that wasn’t just a fight. That was them laying out their worst sides and discovering that it’s too easy to cut themselves on each other.

He watches as the red blooms even more over the bandage and his hand flies automatically up to catch Jiho’s in his. _So easy,_ comes Jiho’s voice, but he shoves it away and keeps his grip on Jiho’s hand firm. “Don’t,” he hears himself saying, hears the heat rise in that singular word. He doesn’t mean it to come out angry, but that’s what he is: pissed that he cares so godamn much about what happens to a person who was virtually a stranger a month ago, pissed that he’d let himself work into this situation, that he’d seen the soft parts of Jiho and decided that the rest of him was worth it, too, so fucking worth it. “Just. It’s not gonna heal if you keep doing that.”

//

 _That’s the point,_  he nearly replies, but shuts his mouth again, wishing he could get up and leave and run out into the wilderness so he can tear at his skin and soul in private, to release all the blackness that’s been boiling in him since their fight. Instead he just clutches onto Kyung’s hand, despite how fucking angry he sounds, dipping his head so his hair falls over his face.

 _It’s not fair_ , he wants to say. _This isn’t fair. Don’t be angry with me._ Instead what comes out is a soft “sorry,” and he knows it’s not just for hurting himself, but for everything else as well. “Thanks for… for taking care of it yesterday.”

//

“Jiho,” Kyung cuts in, not even sure what he wants to say. He just wants Jiho to _stop talking_ so everything can stop swirling around in his head. There’s a reason why he’d chosen math in the first place, because you worked things out meticulously until you reached an end-point or a null hypothesis. This? This was volatile and dangerous and Kyung didn’t know what the fuck to do with it. What to do with _him_.

“You don’t have to,” he finds himself saying, finds his finger curling under Jiho’s chin so he can force Jiho to meet his eyes. That was supposed to be Kyung’s apology, because with falling for Jiho, yeah, Jiho had lied, but Kyung had willingly fallen for those lies even when they had been patchy at best. In a way, he’d fallen twice over. “You’re right, if it wasn’t for me, you’d be off doing…” He realizes with a startling suddenness that he doesn’t _know_. Aside from drawing and his car, what does Kyung know about Woo Jiho? It’s that thought that makes him look down and laugh. “I don’t know, whatever the hell it is you do in your down time.”

//

Jiho laughs bitterly, taking Kyung’s hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly, not giving a shit if he gets rebuked. They’re beyond that, anyway. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be the same as I was that day in the laundromat,” he tells Kyung honestly, letting the truth in his words ring out. “I would be angry, and sad, and spending all my time that I wasn’t working sleeping or fighting or drinking myself into a stupor and trying to lose myself in other people.”

Kyung’s eyes widen slightly, and he smiles sadly. “It’s all I did for three years, and if my washing machine hadn’t broke I would have continued doing it… Until I went out in a blaze of glory on a mission, probably.”

Kyung’s not saying anything, so Jiho lets his hand fall and looks out the window, the scenery inoffensive and harmless – not like Kyung, who cuts him open just with his gaze. “Or I’d be watching cat videos,” he adds as an afterthought, his breath fogging up the glass.

What had he said, that day in the library? _I’m an open book_. He wasn’t then, but he is now – but he wonders if it’s too late, if Kyung doesn’t want to know anymore, now that he’s seen Jiho at his worst, _felt_ Jiho at his worst. The thought makes him sigh, resting his forehead on the glass and closing his eyes, trying to get away from it all.

//

Kyung watches Jiho tip his head against the glass, defeated, and stays silent. He’s heard too many things, and each time it tugs him in a different direction, strings him along in a different way, until he doesn’t know which way is the right one any more. So he stares and stares and stares, as though the puzzle pieces that made up Jiho might re-arrange themselves into something that Kyung can actually understand.

“What else?” Kyung asks, shifting so he can hug his knees, too, like a line of futile defense against his kryptonite. His toes touches Jiho’s as he curls them in and out, waiting patiently for whatever Jiho might say next. It hurts to think that that’s what Jiho thinks he’d ever amount to; before they were done and over here, Kyung wanted to close the chapter with something at least resembling a happy ending. “Cat videos, batman cars, clean laundry— what else?”

//

It’s the least he can do, Jiho supposes, to give Kyung this: the inconsequential pieces of his life that shouldn’t matter, but do. So he breathes on the glass deliberately and draws a swirl in the fog for something to do, so he doesn’t have to look at Kyung when he speaks.

“Um, I once drew a picture of a boy I had a crush on in high school. He found it and punched me in the face.” Jiho snorts at the memory – it wasn’t the first time he’d been punched, but it _was_ the first time he’d punched back. “I gave him a broken nose in response.”

Perhaps that’s a bit macabre to start off with, so he changes tack. “I slept with a stuffed bear until I was like, thirteen. His name was Norton and he was red. I don’t like broccoli. Once Jiseok –” he looks over at Kyung, briefly, “– that’s my brother – tricked me into eating a worm when I was nine. Um, I had my first kiss in the closet at some party that I’d been invited to. I was fourteen. She was pretty, but it did nothing for me.” Jiho shoots a grin at Kyung, feeling some of the weight on his chest lift at sharing like this. “For obvious reasons. Um, once I let Jiseok bleach my hair, but he fucked it up, so I had to shave it off. I’ve probably accrued over a thousand speeding tickets in my lifetime. I got my first tattoo when I was 18, you’ve already seen that one. The rest sort of accumulated after that. Oh, and once I painted my nails black because I thought it would be hilarious, but I was twenty one at the time.”

He finishes with a huff, surprised at himself, surprised at the barrage of information he’s just assaulted Kyung with. “Sorry,” he adds, somewhat lamely, looking out the window again.

//

Kyung stretches his legs out in a way that seemed like he was being indulgent, like he was encroaching in Jiho’s personal space, but he was really just testing waters. They’d started out on the wrong end of the story—with the intimacy and the easy touches—that now they were at a stalemate. He feels like this is the first time he’s heard this much about Jiho, but he’d be lying—there was the time in the bathroom with Jiho folded at his feet,  the time he’d sat opposite to Kyung at the fast food joint, his demons darker than the fluorescent light hanging over them both, and then there was yesterday morning, when Jiho had dug his nails into Kyung’s chest and left red in his wake. It’s starting to feel like every time Jiho wanted to give up a little of himself, blood had to be spilled first.

“You never told me you buzzed this all off, once,” Kyung says, leaning forward as he sucks in a deep breath, practically braces himself, and slides his hand in Jiho’s hair, brushing it back carefully. Up close, Jiho looks as shit as Kyung felt, his eyes rimmed red and held a weight Kyung doesn’t know if he can carry. “I can’t imagine you like that.” But then again, Kyung can’t conjure up the image of Jiho at thirteen or sixteen or eighteen and coloured with none of this exhaustion yet.

“What would it have been like if we met then?” Kyung wonders aloud, running his thumb over Jiho’s hairline, presses his palm to the side of Jiho’s face not tilted towards the glass and traces the shell of his ear, wanting to draw Jiho back from wherever he was looking to Kyung again ( _too easy_ , something echoes, _and what if this time, it isn’t real either?_ ).

//

For a moment Jiho is tempted to wonder if they would have fallen in love – but he knows the answer: this thing they have transcends space and time and age. So he turns his head into Kyung’s touch and smiles tentatively, unsure if this is allowed.

“I would be…” _Different? Better? Not a ruined shell of a man?_ “... I wouldn’t be who I am today, that’s for sure,” he replies, his hand covering Kyung’s. “I’d probably be a lot less of a dick.”

It’s self deprecating and depressing but true – but right now it’s all he can do to focus on the touch that Kyung is giving to him, anchoring him to the here and now.

//

"You _wish_ you weren't inherently a dick," Kyung snorts, and just for this, it feels like everything is back to normal again. Kyung finds himself leaning forward as easily and naturally as it is to breath, head angled in a way that fitted Jiho's. For a while, that's all they do—suspended in time, suspended in space, just breathing each other's air, as if unable to do anything less. _Still,_ Kyung thinks, a little helpless, even after all that, they're still orbiting around each other, gravitating towards each other.

But then he closes his eyes and pulls away, tugs his hand out of Jiho's carefully and looks more at his pants than Jiho when he says, "I'm hungry but the rest of the tins in the kitchen look really weird." His heart is pounding, like this is their first almost-kiss, the kind where you know it's a game of who can stay out of grasp the longest. And he supposes he's right; they've never really held back, so this would make it the first. "Did you put them there or is this someone else's zombie apocalypse shelter?"

//

It’s so hard for Jiho not to lean forward and close the distance between them – but he physically _can’t_ , it’s like there’s some wall that’s stopping him, because he knows that at the end of the day it has to be Kyung who does this, who makes the first move to tell Jiho that it’s okay. So when he pulls away, Jiho doesn’t even feel surprise – just a faint ache behind his breastbone that’s slowly becoming familiar.

“I put them here,” he replies slightly breathlessly, the acrid taste of disappointment hot on his tongue. “This the first safehouse I bought, though, so they’re probably more than two years old. Let’s get the food we brought from the other place.”

He gets up and moves away, feeling the disappointment fade the further away he gets from Kyung, heading into the kitchen where the bags of food are. Keeping his hands busy is easy, and he tells himself that it’s a distraction from Kyung as he heats them both up some tinned spaghetti (he at least knows how to use a microwave), but the truth is whenever Kyung comes near him he _feels_ it, like Kyung is a magnet that he’s hopelessly attracted to.

//

And there’s that tension in the air between them both again. Kyung probably hates it more than anything else in the world, and he’s been through a lot in the past few days. It’s thick, suffocating, like Kyung could easily misstep in the uncertainty and fuck things up even more. _I made you kill_ , Kyung thinks with a startling suddenness, as he watches Jiho move around the kitchen in a way he’s never seen before, _I put blood on your hands_. The ache he feels seems a lot like homesickness, too, of something he can possibly never have in his life.

“Are you cooking for me?” Kyung teases, just a little too loud and a little too jarring given the circumstances, as though he’s overcompensating. And he is, so he soldiers ahead. “Now I’ve really seen it all.” He stays on the other side of the island counter, picking up and reading the labels on the tins Jiho’d bought, figuring that there probably isn’t a point in storing these either.

//

“I wouldn’t call this cooking,” Jiho points out, opening the microwave to stir the spaghetti. “This is like the baseline of preparing food.” He shuts the microwave and punches in another minute, watching the bowl spin round so he doesn’t have to look at Kyung. “I’m pretty sure you can’t fuck up tinned spaghetti.”

You probably could, of course, but that’s something he wants to try for another day – right now, it’s all he can do to get the bowl out of the microwave (ignoring the fact that it’s scalding his hands) and pour half of it into another bowl, digging around the drawer for another fork for Kyung. “Ta dah,” he says, spreading his arms theatrically and gesturing to the spaghetti like it’s a fucking michelin star meal. “Gourmet food prepared by one Woo Jiho himself.”

He’s babbling, but he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut when there’s this awkward silence between them – the words just spill out of him to try to fix it. Instead of talking more and saying something stupid _(I love you, I’m sorry, how can I make this right?)_ he picks up the bowl and shovels a mouthful into his face, grinning widely at Kyung.

//

Kyung can’t help the laugh that escapes him, hand flying up to cover his mouth as he reaches across the counter to drag his bowl to himself. Their fingers brush when he makes a grab for his fork, and he doesn’t think about the fact that even this, now, would be considered monumental.

“I’m not the one who acts like I work for a fine dining restaurant.” This is normal, this is fine. This can be how they will be until Kyung goes back, and—right, he doesn’t know what Jiho’s plans are. And try as he might, he can’t leave it well alone. _Blaze of glory_ , Jiho’d said. Kyung thinks about the self-incurred gash on his wrist and his stomach folds over, leaving him with a queasy feeling that has him abandoning the rest of his spaghetti even though he’d been hungry earlier. He forces himself to grin—to match the equally forced one on Jiho’s face—when he says, “My spaghetti was better. I’ll teach you, next time.”

//

“Cooking is not my forte,” Jiho replies around a mouthful of spaghetti, aware he probably has sauce all over his face, noticing Kyung has put his fork down and is giving up on the spaghetti. “But I’ll do my best.”

That’s all he is doing, it’s all he _can_ do. But his best is not enough anymore, and perhaps it never really was, and they were just glazing over the cracks. The thought of that has him putting his fork down, too, his appetite gone. He feels so snarled up inside, he doesn’t know _what_ he wants to do – although lying under a pile of blankets and wishing he could disappear sounds like a good bet right about now.

//

That’s the last long conversation they have; for the next few days, they spend their time in rooms the other isn’t in. Jiho could be cleaning his equipment in the living room, and Kyung would be sitting on the steps outside, figuring out a way to charge his phone without actually using a charger. Or Kyung would be trying to fix the 90s looking television, buried neck deep in dusty wiring and half-broken antenna, and Jiho would be out, tinkering away with the car. Or Kyung could be up in the attic—a recent discovery, one that he’d made wandering the house aimlessly—poring over the life of someone that he didn’t know, and Jiho would… Jiho would be off doing whatever the hell he did in his own room. They had that too, now, separate rooms, separate living conditions. But Kyung’s been living with someone else for so long that he wakes up sometimes, at night, and fights the urge to get up and crawl into Jiho’s bed. He doesn’t think Jiho would appreciate it, anyway, because other than meal times that occurred once a day, they pass over each other like ships in the night.

It’s ridiculous; he feels like he’s missing someone who’s standing right in front of him, albeit a little closed off, turned away, always wearing that expression that Kyung can’t read. Sometimes Kyung looks over and catches Jiho’s eyes on him (and vice versa), and they both would quickly glance away, like magnets repelling. It’s just before breaking point that Jiho mentions that he’s going to town again, to replenish their shitty supply of food and to purchase a charger for Kyung’s phone. Kyung wants to ask to tag along so badly that he has to dig his nails into his palms to resist—he knows what Jiho’s answer is going to be, anyway. _You’re safer here,_ which translated more or less to _you’re a liability._ He realizes that it’s been a week since he’s had a conversation with anyone that isn’t Jiho, and he’s pretty sure that the kind of exchange they had going on didn’t constitute as conversation either. The bruises on Kyung’s neck start fading, but the wound between them both remains as raw as ever.

It’s with a feeling of trepidation that Kyung watches Jiho’s slightly battered car pull away from the front of the house, and for the nth time he thinks about how different this could’ve been. How _easy_. But he shakes his head and turns back into the house, switching off the lights in the living room as he makes his way up to the dusty attic again with a torch Jiho had procured from his car. It’s easier to drown yourself in the details of someone else’s life—regardless of how surprisingly morbid the letters he’d found had turned out—when Kyung’s seemed to have come to a standstill with no signs of ever getting back in motion.

//

The last week has been the most painful one of Jiho’s life.

They’d spent their time dancing around each other awkwardly – Jiho always wanting to say something but never quite having the words, Kyung not broaching conversation… _Meaningful_ conversation, anyway. Jiho has no idea what they are: have they broken up? Were they even together in the first place? Does Kyung even _love_ him anymore? Jiho would like to say that a love as deep as theirs could not be erased in one fight and a week, but then again he can’t speak for Kyung and he doesn’t know anything of love anyway.

The trip to the shops is just an excuse, honestly; the atmosphere is so stifling that he finds himself going on walks during the night, out into the countryside, just to be able to breathe. So when he gets into the car and drives away, leaving Kyung behind, he feels a weight lift from his chest and gasps into the closed space of the car as he speeds along, relieved. How did things go so wrong between them? He doesn’t even know where to begin fixing it, doesn’t know if it _can_ be fixed.

It’s with all of this on his mind that he goes about his shopping, off in his own head and dreamy as he peruses the aisles, picking out things that they’ll need for the next week. He’s got an arm full of plastic bags and is heading back to the car when he remembers that he was meant to get Kyung a charger and turns –

Straight into a fist that sends him sprawling to the ground, completely unprepared. As his brain catches up to what’s just happened, he considers just giving up, lying there and letting whatever happens happen: _...until I went out on a blaze of glory on a mission…_

But then his survival instincts kick in and he springs to his feet, managing to disentangle himself from the plastic bags and throwing a punch at his faceless attacker that gets dodged instantly. Fuck. _Fuck_. It’s the Organisation – he knows this as a fist from behind hits him in his kidneys, making him cry out – and he doesn’t know how they found him. Perhaps it was Kyung; perhaps it was him; it doesn’t really matter, now, because as he manages to connect with one’s stomach another kicks him in the back, sending him sprawling onto the ground. He knows instantly he’s outnumbered, and without any weapons (why had he left his gun at home? Why does he not have his dagger?) he’s helpless, essentially. Still, he gets back up and dodges a fist aimed at his head, tackling one of them around the waist, sending them both crashing to the ground together – but it’s no use, because a boot connects to his head. He staggers to his feet, woozy, the ground swaying underneath his feet, and feels an arm come around his neck from behind to start choking him.

He kicks feebly, but it’s no use; he’s too far gone and there’s too damn many and he knows it. As his vision goes dark, as he swims backwards into the blackness, he lets go, the last word on his lips Kyung’s name.

//

Kyung startles awake from the dusty box he’d fallen asleep over when he hears the sound of the car coming to a noisy stop. For a moment, in that space between consciousness and unconsciousness, he grins at the thought that Jiho must be _pissed_ that he doesn’t have his fucking batmobile. Then he remembers that they’re not exactly on speaking terms and that Kyung has to go down and put away his purchases whilst pretending that everything was perfectly normal and he groans, dragging a hand through his hair as he leans over to peer out of the gaps between the planks to watch the car doors swing open.

He’s waiting to see the top of Jiho’s dark head emerge out of the car but it doesn’t come. A stranger piles out instead, with his hand shoved into his jacket. Gauging from his stance, he’s scoping out the area warily. It’s Jiho’s people. Kyung’s heart stops when he realizes that _that’s_ Jiho’s car they’re climbing out of, which means that… he drops the letters he’d been holding onto the ground to press his palms up against the dusty wood, squinting to try and discern the men spilling out of the car now. There’s a second one on the phone, then the driver, and the final man, who stands at the car door for a while before hauling out a fifth person. _Jiho_ , Kyung thinks, immobilized, enraptured by the scene before him. Shit. Shit shit shit—

It doesn’t take them long to get in the house once they’ve established that their surroundings were essentially just land and cows. Quietly, in spite of how his blood is roaring in his ears, he slides over the creaking floorboards to follow the sounds of them entering through the front door. They’re not bothering to be quiet. Which figures, given that the only threat that they could’ve faced is Jiho, and Jiho is—Kyung squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, not letting himself think about whether or not Jiho was still alive. Because if they’d left things the way they were, awkward and uncertain, then Kyung’s never going to be able to forgive himself.

“Did you find him?” Kyung hears distantly. He has the presence of mind to reach over and switch off the torchlight he’d brought up with him. There’s a mumbled response, and then the same voice says, “Try harder. There’s only one car out and a fucking forest behind this house.” It’s dawns on Kyung that they’re talking about _him_ , that they hadn’t just taken Jiho away because they wanted to drag him along, too.

“Do you know how many of us you’ve taken out?” another voice filters up. Kyung’s in the middle of debating whether or not he wanted to lift the trap door so he can assess the situation when he hears it, a sickening _crunch_ and then the sound of Jiho groaning, laughing, spitting out a harsh, “Motherfucker.” The relief that washes over Kyung is instantaneous; he’s never been more glad to hear that tone of voice than in this moment, and for a second, Kyung actually closes his eyes and resolves that come what may, he’s going to tell Woo Jiho that he loves him, no questions asked, no strings attached.

“That’s not an answer,” the same voice says, and then there’s another _whump_ and Jiho groans again. If Kyung’d thought he’d seen and heard all he had to last him with enough nightmare fuel for years, he’s _wrong_ . “Try again, _motherfucker_.” The silence that falls next is tense enough that Kyung curls his fingers against the floorboards in anticipation, mind racing with an endless _what the fuck do I do what the fuck do I do what the fuck do I do_. His thoughts derail when he realizes that Jiho’s whimpering in a way that Kyung’d never heard before. He swallows, nails digging so hard into the floorboard that he almost draws blood.

“They’re going to search for him, now—” the man pauses and Jiho makes a gasping sound loud enough to filter through the fucking floorboards “—and if they don’t find him tonight, we’re gonna keep you alive until we do. Just so you can watch.”

//

Jiho laughs at that, his voice hoarse from where he’d been choked in the scuffle. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” He pauses to spit out a glob of blood, his mouth twisted into a frown. “He’s stashed somewhere far away from here. You’ll never fucking find him.”

He gets another punch in the face for that and groans loudly, hoping that wherever Kyung’s hiding he’s picked up on what’s going on and doesn’t come rushing out stupidly. Panting, he looks up at his captor, wriggling his fingers to see how tight the bindings are, not surprised to find they’re as tight as if he would do them. These men are strangers, anonymous faces that mean nothing, that _will_ mean nothing when he kills them.

“Liar,” the man growls, standing over Jiho, his fists clenched. “Where is he?”

Jiho shrugs, raising his eyebrow derisively despite the fact he can feel he has the beginnings of a black eye. “I told you, he isn’t here.”

He’s expecting the punch, this time, and ducks as best he can considering he’s tied to a chair, gasping with shock as the man hits him with a left hook instead, slumping over. Everything’s still woozy and blurry, and his face is aching like a bitch, and he’s still slightly out of it. He’d only come to in the car on the way back to the farmhouse, but they’d trussed him up by then and he feels completely useless, grinning cheekily up at the agent to disguise the fear that creeps up his spine. It’s not fear for him – no, he’s been through far worse than this – but fear for Kyung, for what they’re gonna do to Kyung when they find him. Because if these guys are thorough – and they are, they’re as thorough as he would be – then they _will_ find him.

And Jiho is completely fucking trapped.

“You know,” Jiho begins, coughing, “the amount of joy I’m gonna feel when I end your fucking life almost makes this all worth it.”

Time sort of gets hazy after that, because the punches and kicks come so fast one after the other that he finds himself drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point he has water poured on him to wake him up, and it shocks him back to lucidity enough for him to realise they still haven’t fucking found Kyung, before he’s out of it again, moaning helplessly as another kick lands on his stomach. In this state, in this weird, semi-conscious floaty world he’s in, he realises with immediate clarity that they’re both going to die tonight. He’s outnumbered and weak and it’s only a matter of time before they’ve had their fun and decide to kill him; he doesn’t even want to _think_ what they have in store for Kyung.

Kyung…

He’s getting socked in the face again, but it doesn’t matter because he’s not there anymore – he’s in the aquarium with Kyung, his fingers grasping a pencil tightly as he puts the finishing touches on a drawing that’s so lifelike he swears it blinks on the paper. He’s out the front of a church, sobbing desperately and clinging onto Kyung like an anchor. He’s on a rooftop, bathed in the pale milky light of the moon. He’s waking up to Kyung curled around him, smiling softly. The memories all run together in his head, the only common thread being _Kyung_ – and he’s smiling as he sees the flash of a blade, here in the house; because at least he’s gonna die like this, with Kyung surrounding him.

//

Kyung has it all calculated. It’d taken a while because every time there was a fresh wave of beatings, Kyung can’t help but stop and listen; he doesn’t know if this time would be the last time he hears Jiho swear out at the man (singular; the others were gone, presumably in search for Kyung somewhere that didn’t require a moving vehicle). But he knows that Jiho keeps his weapons in his room at the end of the architecturally stupid corridor, which means that Kyung had at least access to some of Jiho’s knives. He didn’t have a single clue as to how a gun worked beyond the commonsensical movie knowledge—cock the safety, pull the trigger—which isn’t very reassuring knowledge, considering the fact that Kyung wants to fucking get out of this alive.

It’s going to take Kyung approximately half a minute to get from the trapdoor of the attic and into the corridor to Jiho’s room without being seen. Not a hard feat, if the man is distracted enough (the consequences of which Kyung doesn’t want to think about). The whole house is lit up now, from their earlier attempts to find Kyung, so he doesn’t have much hope for the cover of darkness. Once he’s gotten the weapon, it’s going to take him fifteen seconds to the living room given that he moves fast enough. He’s going to have to wait out for an opportune moment, however long that might take, and then he’s going to have to—

Kyung closes his eyes and says a quiet prayer. _It’s not fair_ , he thinks, hands fisted into a hard ball. He hadn’t told Jiho any of the things he wanted to say yet—that Jiho’s right and he’d fallen hook, line, and sinker and he’d gladly do it all over again, if only he gets to see Jiho’s shy smile light up from behind his hair, that he’d take all the parts of Jiho, his softness that needed to be shielded with his sharp corners, and love them all the same, that he no longer knows how to do anything otherwise, anyway, that Kyung knows how to walk away from a fight, but pretending that he doesn’t need Jiho is the stupidest fucking battle Kyung’d fought.

Then he’s slowly raising the trap door with as much stealth as he can considering that the hinges hadn’t been oiled in years, letting the wooden ladder slide out with a groan quieter than the one Jiho’d make just then. He moves quickly, forcing himself to think of nothing but Jiho as he finds his way to Jiho’s room, untouched and militaristically clean, the sheets tucked into the corners of the bed. He procures a gun and two knives easily enough—laughs for a moment at the idea that he’s got a godamn gun and a knife in his pocket, shoved in like spare change from this morning’s run to the convenience store—then he’s out in the corridor again, ears pricking up for any sounds that might signal danger.

His haphazard plans go to shit the moment Kyung peers out into the living room and catches sight of the knife the man holds up against Jiho’s already lolling head. Instinct kicks in before logic, the overwhelming surge of anger and protection and possessiveness that rises in his chest, and before he knows it, he’s stalking forward, just in time for the man to whip around as Kyung makes a lunge and sticks the blade in his neck (“… jab them here…” comes Jiho’s voice, serious but affectionate, _warm_ , and any residual fear that Kyung felt fades away). Kyung takes a wary step back as the man unsteadily steps forward. Things move in slow motion as he grips his neck, staring at Kyung in shock as if trying to process that he’s bleeding to death on the spot he stands.

Kyung barely registers the man rasping when he slumps to the ground (doesn’t _want_ to register what he’d just done) and goes straight for Jiho, raising his trembling hands to touch Jiho’s face ( _please please please please please please_ ). “Fuck,” he blurts out, the relief of realizing that Jiho’s still alive has him buckling down to his knees until he’s kneeling in front of the chair, hands staining red from the blood on Jiho’s face, “Jiho, it’s me. Hey. Wake up, alright? This isn’t the time to be lazy, asshole. We need to go.” He’s aware that at any moment now, the men might come straight back for them, so he scoots around to rip the knot open with his second knife, tearing away as carefully as the zip ties as he can considering that his palms are slippery with _Jiho’s_ blood and that he’s shaking so hard, he can barely hold the knife right.

//

“I knew you’d come,” Jiho slurs, wondering why in death he’s still hurting. Isn’t it meant to be painless? “You’re… I’m sorry…” he shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, distracted by the feeling of his wrists being freed. “Dying isn’t so bad with you around.”

“You’re not dead,” Kyung replies, slicing through the zipties on his feet. “Come _on.”_

Jiho holds his wrists up in front of him, marvelling stupidly at the imprint the ties have left on his skin, something physical that’s very real when he touches them. And then he’s touching Kyung on the face wonderingly, touching his own face, feeling _wet_. Surely he’s dead? Surely? Where did Kyung come from –

Oh.

The sight of his captor lying dead on the ground with a knife sticking out of his neck shocks him into clarity, making him inhale sharply and then cough as he feels his ribs twinge painfully (probably broken). He clutches onto his side, staring at the knife, the cogs turning slowly, slowly in his head… No.

He takes in Kyung, shaking like a leaf with a terrible, hard, _possessive_ expression on his face, and Jiho thinks he really has died, and this is his Hell. It can’t be – it just can’t be. Kyung can’t have done that for him, can’t have – no, no, _no,_ this isn’t _happening –_

Jiho hears a noise from the back of his house and his head whips around like a rabbit caught in the headlights, despite the movement setting his stomach to roiling. They’re coming back, and he gets off the chair, determined to protect Kyung, and falls straight on his face, his ankle giving out from underneath him. It’s not broken, probably, but he doesn’t have time to investigate because he hears footsteps and voices and he’s useless and broken and terrified.

“Tell me you didn’t,” he whispers to Kyung, clambering to his feet, using the chair and Kyung’s hand to help him up. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Kyung just shakes his head wordlessly and presses a gun into Jiho’s hands, and he looks down at it stupidly. His hands are wet and covered in red – when did that happen? – and he holds the gun like he’s not too sure what to do with it, the pain radiating through his body making it hard to think, hard to do anything – Kyung _killed_ for him, why did he do that? Why didn’t he just let him _die?_ But then the voices come closer and he snaps back into his training, his fingers curling around the gun like it’s an old friend’s hand, warm and familiar, and he cocks it, flicking off the safety, stepping in front of Kyung and nearly falling over again.

When they round the corner – stupid, stupid to all be in a group, he remembers that much, they should have split up – he raises the gun and fires at them, barely registering that he hits them all. He keeps clicking the trigger uselessly, over and over and over and over like he can take this away because – it’s not real, it can’t be. It just can’t be.

And then his legs give out from underneath him again and he can’t find the strength in him to get up.

//

It’s almost too easy for Kyung to just take a step back and let Jiho operate the way he’s used to seeing—fast and deadly, with an efficiency that shouldn’t apply to what essentially was murder. But Jiho’s falling apart at the seams, that much is obvious enough. He shakes and blanks out when he stares at Kyung, with rivulets of blood running down his face that he doesn’t seem to even fucking notice.

“Ji—” Kyung starts, but then the men come back for them, loud and rowdy and irritated. All at once Jiho empties his round on them, and then, as though that had taken up every last bit of his energy, he crumples to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut loose. Kyung sinks down to his knees immediately, hands skittering over Jiho’s still frame, the fear and nausea that he’d been strangely devoid of earlier washing over him at once.

“No,” he finds himself saying, the sound strangled in the heavy silence of the room. “No no no no, Jiho, please—” Please what? Please don’t fucking die, I still need you? Even at a time like this, Kyung’s still selfishly thinking of himself. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s rolled Jiho over to his back and Jiho blinks owlishly up at him, dropping his gun so he can raise a hand to brush his palm against Kyung’s cheek, looking as though he doesn’t understand _how_ Kyung is right there, and it comes away wet.

He can’t put himself on auto-pilot now; Jiho’s been saving his ass for so long that the universe’d decided it was time to flip the coin on the other side. Kyung grips Jiho’s hand tightly as he glances around the room, eyes darting from point to point to point. He needs to leave, they need to go in case there were more men waiting, in case there were more bullets around the corner, more people who were going to take Jiho away from Kyung.

It takes him several minutes to get Jiho to his feet to the tune of Kyung’s superfluous words of encouragement, and it’s with his arm wound tightly around his waist, with Jiho’s weight leaning heavily against him that Kyung begins the slow walk out. Jiho’s breath rasps with every step, his fingers clenching and unclenching weakly in the material of Kyung’s shirt. His eyes are still shut, or his face is so bloodied up that they appeared shut, Kyung doesn’t know and doesn’t want to think about it. His only goal is the car. Once he’s gotten Jiho safely into the passenger seat—they’d left the keys in the ignition, thank fuck—he presses a quick kiss to the back of Jiho’s hand and runs back into the house. He hovers briefly over the bodies lying prone, and still warm, fuck, over the hardwood floors and sucks in a deep breath before he strips them of all their identification—wallets, phones, a godamn namecard for an office position at a paper company. Then he rounds up all of their stuff before running back towards the car.

“I’m gonna take you on a trip,” Kyung tells Jiho even when he can’t tell whether Jiho could hear him or not. It doesn’t matter, he’s talking more to comfort himself than anything else. He’s going to fake it until he makes it, that is, achieve some semblance of normalcy despite the fact that he’d just killed someone, and that the man he loved was potentially dying in the seat next to him, god help him now. “I don’t know where yet. Probably in town. It’s this way, right? I keep seeing you drive. Whenever you go off… I’m always a little scared that you won’t come back. But you do. You keep coming back.” He has the car running now, hand curled tightly over the wheel so it doesn’t shake and they don’t end up ironically dying in a godamn car crash. “It could be easy for you to just fuck off and leave me behind, but you don’t. Maybe you’re just stupid, right?” Kyung glances over but Jiho remains silent. “I guess that makes the both of us.”

//

Jiho sleeps.

He’s powerless to stop it, really, and it’s less of a sleep and more of a complete loss of consciousness, his body instinctively knowing what it needs to do to begin to heal. At one point he’s on the floor with Kyung leaning over him, shouting funny syllables that sound like “no”... Then he’s walking towards a car, his ankle giving out from underneath him, his ribs on fire, Kyung supporting him as he goes… Then he’s in the car, listening to Kyung talk about nothing and everything… And then he’s gone.

At first it’s deep and bottomless, but then he begins to dream. All he sees is Kyung, stretched out in front of him, but he’s trapped behind a pane of glass, watching in slow motion as Kyung stabs a man with no face, over and over. He should feel terrified, but he doesn’t; Kyung is almost dali-esque in his face, his features mutating until he’s not himself anymore, and Jiho knows: this is not his Kyung.

He wakes up slowly, swimming back to who he was lazily. It’s better in the blackness, really – all there was was nothingness and Kyung, and that’s all he’ll ever need – but something in him is niggling at him to to _get up, come on, get up, you’ve got to get up._ When he can finally open his eyes he sees he’s in bed, sheets tucked over him. Slowly the facts come back to him, one at a time, trickling like water: he’s naked, he’s sore, his head is pounding, his ribs are bandaged, his ankle is bandaged, and his face is swollen. This is a start, and he knows he’s been in a fight – he can’t remember why, or how, but he knows he’s here and that’s enough for the moment.

The room he’s in is stark and bland, with no defining features; he sits up slowly, knowing this isn’t the safe house – and when he tries to figure out _why_ there’s an invisible wall in his mind, impenetrable, unavoidable. He ignores it – his head hurts too much to figure out what’s going on – and swings his legs out of bed, huffing and puffing as his ribs scream at him to stop.

Broken ribs. A sprained ankle. A black eye and a swollen face. What the fuck did he get into? More importantly – where is Kyung? A flash of something – of being choked, of figures with long teeth and sharp claws closing in on him – comes into his mind and he has to hold onto the headboard for support, still incredibly woozy. _Fuck._

He hears the shower running, and decides it’s Kyung – he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it isn’t, but it’s his only option, so he tries to get up, eventually succeeding. He grits his teeth at the pain that’s radiating all through his torso and up his leg as he hops over to the bathroom door, swinging it wide –

And Kyung’s sitting on the floor of the shower, his legs drawn up to his chest; his eyes widen when he sees Jiho, and Jiho realises he’s been _crying._ It’s with this that he remembers, staggering into the shower with Kyung and leaning against the wall to slide down it, to draw Kyung into his arms and hold him close, feeling Kyung’s arms wrap around him.

The events of the night replay in his mind like some cruel joke, over and over. As fractured as his mind was, he still remembers it, albeit fuzzily – his surety of his death, of Kyung standing over a body with a knife in its neck, of him shooting his gun over and over. The memories assault him over and over, wracking through his body – but it’s not himself he’s worried for. The image of Kyung, trembling as he touched Jiho’s face, the knowledge of what he’d done for him – it’s imprinted on the back of his eyelids, so he sees negatives of it everywhere he looks.

“Kyung,” he whispers, his voice still hoarse. “Kyung, Kyung, Kyung, Kyung…”

//

He’d only expected to take a quick shower to get rid of all the grime and dirt and sweat and, most importantly, Jiho’s _blood_ off of him. One quick shower, and he wanted to spend the rest of the night watching Jiho sleep. Making sure that he _is_ sleeping and hadn’t stopped breathing within the night. (He doesn’t think sleep would come easily for himself because the adrenaline he’d had coursing through him as he lied to the bored man at the counter to book them both a room, as he made a trip to the local convenience store for bandages, using money he’d found in a dead man’s wallet, was still there. And besides, he’s scared of what lurks for him in the depths of slumber.)

But he’d stepped into the shower and closed his eyes and the next thing he knows, he’s on the ground and unable to fucking _breathe_ , hugging his legs to himself as if becoming smaller would get all this to get away. He cries the fear and exhaustion out of himself, letting it bleed freely along with the shower’s water, letting himself feel scared, for once, scared that Jiho mightn’ve made it, scared that that man—his gasping breaths, the accusatory look on his face—might’ve turned around and turned on Kyung, scared that this would all his life would ever be again.

It’s not until the door opens that Kyung looks up. For a suspended moment, they just stare at each other—and there it is again, the world fading away to just the two of them—and then Jiho’s next to him, Jiho’s arms are around him. Kyung wants to stop crying, wants to fucking pull himself together because he isn’t the one with potentially broken ribs and a bruised face and a purple ring around his neck. But try as he might, he can’t, and his wracking sobs fill up the enclosed space of the bathroom, fills up the spaces that they’d left between them, fills up every part of Kyung and peters out again until he’s nothing but empty.

“Shit,” he says, gaspingly, forcing himself to heave in deep breaths. “You shouldn’t be here.” He blinks and more tears come, like he’s a godamn leaky faucet that just won’t fucking stop. “I put in—effort for that—your bandages. They’re getting wet.” Sniffing, he pulls away from Jiho just so he can’t see how absolutely wrecked Kyung looks, can’t see the look in Kyung’s eyes because he knows that Jiho is volatile enough for the two of them. No need to add himself into this complicated equation. “Get back to—to bed, okay? I’ll dry—dry up. Wash my face.”

//

“No,” Jiho replies instantly and stubbornly, his hands smoothing back Kyung’s hair from his face, his fingers stroking along Kyung’s cheek bone. “I’m not leaving you.”

 _Not ever, not again, because look what happened when I did_. He’s struck with how much of a mirror of each other they are: not so long ago it was him clutching onto Kyung while he cried, telling Kyung to go back, on the steps of church; back then, it was only he who had blood on his hands, and Kyung was still untouched by the violence.

Kyung looks doubtfully at him, so Jiho pulls him back in, kissing the top of Kyung’s head, his fingers tracing soft patterns into Kyung’s skin. The guilt is going to hit him at some point – he can feel it hovering, lurking, ready – but his first priority is Kyung. He can worry about himself afterwards.

“I love you,” he whispers into Kyung’s hair, because it’s been too fucking long since he’s said it and he doesn’t particularly care if they’re still fighting, because after what happened he’s never gonna let Kyung go.

//

Any resolve Kyung had in him to get his shit together shatters the moment Jiho utters those words. They may as well be damning for all that they do to Kyung, makes his head drop to Jiho’s shoulder with his eyes squeezed shut, fingers pressing into the plane of Jiho’s back. At least he’s still aware of Jiho’s problem areas, having examined at each and every one of Jiho’s wound with careful intensity for fear that one of them goes overlooked and untreated and ends up blowing up in his face.

“God,” he gasps out, like _he’s_ the one who’d been punched; here they were, literally having been chased from one desperate corner to another desperate corner, and this is what that has Kyung feeling most vulnerable. So he draws back and gently cups Jiho’s jaw, swollen and bruised and now sticky with the ointment the nice lady at the convenience store had recommended to Kyung. Kyung knows he must look a sight now, that they were on equal grounds, that Jiho’s looking at a side of him that no one else would ever see again, if he’s lucky. Then he’s tipping his head forward to rest his forehead against Jiho’s, eyes shutting—he’s so tired, so so _so_ tired—as he mumbles, “I love you too.”

They sit there for a few more moments; Kyung lets himself melt into Jiho’s touches, lets himself pretend that, just in that instant, everything may turn out fine after all, that all the wires may not cross and the bomb might not detonate, in the end. And then he’s egging Jiho to get up, fingers running over Jiho’s water-soaked bandages as he helps Jiho out of the bathroom.


	15. Chapter 15

Jiho winces as he staggers out of the bathroom, and he knows Kyung notices because he guides Jiho over to the bed and sits him down to redo his now sopping wet bandages, unwrapping them with care, his fingers feather-light over Jiho’s torso, his ankle. Jiho just watches Kyung bustle back and forth between the bags and him, keeping his hands busy – but Jiho knows that his mind is ticking over at a million miles an hour. He knows that’s normal – lord knows Kyung is coping better than the first time _he_ killed someone – but he still worries, even as Kyung tucks him into bed and putters around, getting dressed himself and turning off all the lights before sliding into the bed next to him.

Jiho rolls over (slowly, carefully, stifling his groan) and reaches for Kyung, biting his lip when he finds Kyung reaching for him, too. They end up in some smushed position in the middle of the bed, Kyung’s head on Jiho’s chest (not near his injured ribs, thankfully), their limbs twined together. Despite how good it feels to have Kyung back, the situation that led them here is hovering around them, omnipresent and unforgettable; Jiho feels it in the back of his mind.

“Are you okay?” he asks, shifting to cup Kyung’s face between his palms, laying the softest and sweetest of kisses on his lips. It’s the most superfluous of questions possible, because who the fuck would be okay after what they’d just been through? “Talk to me,” he murmurs against Kyung’s lips, closing his eyes.

//

“I’d much rather sleep,” Kyung says; it’s a lie, he’s pretty sure sleep is going to elude him tonight, and he’s only between the sheets because he wants to be pressed up against Jiho, wants Jiho to wake up with Kyung pressed up to him. After the ordeal at the farmhouse, Kyung can’t stand the idea of letting Jiho out of his sight. Lord knows what kind of other shit he may be getting up to, and while Kyung is aware that Jiho can hold his own far better than he can—that even in his bloodied stupor, he’d taken down three men—his tired mind tells him that his sheer willpower will keep Jiho safe and sound.

Not that that’s been doing much for him, anyway, considering that Jiho was essentially broken in several places.

“Besides,” Kyung adds as he circles Jiho’s wrists with his hands, trying to soften the blow of his brutal honesty. He’s too tired to think about filtering what he wants to say, about what he should be saying; aren’t they long past this point anyway? “You need to sleep. You were out for less than a few hours.” As his eyes adjust to the dark room, Kyung can make out the contour of Jiho’s face, that his eyes are closed, eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, that he looks quiet, peaceful coloured in black and white, with none of the purple blooming on his skin visible.

//

That hurts, more than he’d expected, but he bites his tongue and shuts his eyes and pretends to be sleeping already. He can’t force Kyung to open up to him, he’s gonna have to wait for it to come organically – and again he wonders how they could have switched roles so fast.

For all his pretending, he really does fall asleep after that – although it doesn’t come easily, and he rests fitfully, tossing and turning. At one point he distinctly remembers waking up to the bed being cold and empty; he’d half sat up, groaning out loud at the stabbing pain in his ribs, and Kyung had got up from the tiny desk and rushed over to him, soothing him with words and touches, and Jiho had fallen back to sleep. This time, he doesn’t dream of anything at all.

When he wakes, Kyung’s in the bed with him, although Jiho can tell instantly that he’s not sleeping and wonders if he got any sleep at all. Jiho _hates_ being injured like this, hates being weak, because he can’t focus on Kyung – which is what they both need.

“Good morning,” he croaks, opening his eyes to see Kyung looking down at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “You didn’t get any sleep, did you?”

//

Kyung feels restless, like there’s a buzzing under his skin that won’t go away no matter how he tries. And he’s tried a lot, over the course of the night—pacing, at first, then unpacking their things, then re-packing their things, then grabbing the motel brand of pen and a cheap pad of paper to make a list of all the things he was going to do when he got back to his life. What he was going to do _with_ Jiho, mostly. The latter had turned out fairly depressing and he’s back to pacing again, eyes darting nervously over to Jiho every time he stirred in his sleep.

It’s only when dawn breaks that he crawls back into bed, the buzzing weighed down with the heaviness of exhaustion, and he gently lays his head over Jiho’s chest, presses his ear over the steady beating of Jiho’s heart that he feels calm for the first time that night. Eventually he takes to staring at Jiho unabashedly. Doesn’t matter anymore, he just wants to drink Jiho in until Jiho wakes up and _still_ the first thing he asks is about Kyung.

“Kinda hard to,” Kyung confesses, propping his head up on elbow, his other hand stroking Jiho’s cheek gently. He’d done the same thing almost twelve hours ago but his hand had come away with blood, then. The mental image proves so hard to shake off that Kyung has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to rid himself of it. “I—I keep thinking of… if last night—if I didn’t get there on time. You might’ve—and we were—” Nothing seems to come out right, all his words leaving him mid-way through a thought forcing him to abort it. Making a noise of frustration, he drops his head onto the pillow next to Jiho’s head.

//

“But you did. And I’m not,” Jiho whispers, kissing Kyung’s forehead softly, then his nose, then his lips. “You saved me.”

Again, with the echoes – he’d known going into this that his past could never escape him, but he didn’t realise his present would refuse to leave, either. As it is, he can see that what he had feared has finally happened – Kyung has taken in some of his darkness; Jiho can see it etched on his face, written in the way he rests his hand on Jiho’s arm.

It’s here that the guilt hits him, with a blunt blow that has him sucking in air through his teeth, worse somehow than his ribs, worse than the way his whole body aches like he’s been on a spin cycle through a particularly huge washing machine. It’s fucking painful, and he shuts his eyes – let Kyung think it’s because of his ribs when inside he’s screaming and tearing and railing, despair sinking into his bones once again. It was one thing when Kyung just _knew_ and didn’t _do_ ; but now he has done, and they’ve once again passed the point of no return. Jiho wonders how many points they have to go through before he gets the courage to leave Kyung alone so he can resume a normal life – or as much of a normal life as he could have in Jiho’s wake.

He kisses Kyung again, fiercely – not in the lust filled sense but in the protective sense – furrowing his brow as his hand falls upon Kyung’s cheek. “I’m not gonna let that happen to you again,” he murmurs.

//

 _But I didn’t_ , Kyung thinks, letting Jiho kiss him anyway, letting himself remember how that feels, how easily it could be uncomplicated, a straight route from Kyung’s core to Jiho’s, _There’s blood on your hands that’s supposed to be on mine._ But he doesn’t say any of that aloud, just bumps his nose against Jiho’s when he makes his promise, quiet and resolute and _absolute_.

“I know,” Kyung says, just as softly, and then kisses Jiho again and again and again and again. This is the catalyst to everything that had ever happened—the first kiss, pressed up against each other in the changing room, wanting and more and more, and the last time they had kissed, pressed up against the couch, blood spilling between them, sticky and damning. When he pulls away, he’s breathless, shifting so he can bracket the sides of Jiho’s stomach with his thighs, hands cupping Jiho’s face carefully. “And I’m not going to let it happen to you either, okay?”

When he dives back in for a kiss again, it’s with the same intensity that Jiho had, at first. He knows that Jiho doesn’t get it, that even while injured and fucked up in five different ways (Kyung’s been going over them again and again in his head), Jiho’s spotlight is still focused on Kyung.

//

“Always with the one upmanship,” Jiho croaks, but his tone is teasing and he slides his hands up Kyung’s thighs, reveling in the touch after being deprived of it for what seems like an age.

But then Kyung’s hand is drifting through his hair and he arches up instinctively, ignoring the white-hot blade of pain that his ribs spears through him because, damn it, pain can wait, this is Kyung and he’s here _now_ and Jiho _can’t_ wait. He slides his hands up Kyung’s thighs, up his hips to stroke down his back softly, ever-aware that the last time they did anything remotely close to this was violent and rough and not wanting to even mimic that time in the slightest.

“God,” he breathes shakily onto Kyung’s lips, realising that nothing in the world can make him feel so fucking high like kissing Kyung does. “Kyung…”

//

His name on Jiho’s lips makes him melt and forget the rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, makes him swallow as he kisses his way down Jiho’s chest, carefully covering every inch of skin—whether inked or bruised or unblemished. Not wanting to leave any more damage than there already is, every one of Kyung’s kisses is light, almost fleeting, and he can see goosebumps rise on Jiho’s skin as he kisses his way back up.

“Let me take care of you,” Kyung says, experiencing a sense of deja vu. Hadn’t he said the same thing at another time? But look at where they were now, anyway, with Jiho looking up at him with a misplaced sort of wonderment, eyes glazed over with a combination of lust and something _else_ that has Kyung pressing back down to kiss him again as he shifts to line their hips together. “For once.” Because Kyung had spent approximately twenty minutes at the charging station in the lobby, leeching wi-fi from the internet cafe next door, frantically googling how to best fix up Jiho’s injuries. But _this_? This he knew how to do.

So he takes care to prop himself up one hand as he kisses Jiho, as his hand trails the same path that his lips had, just moments ago, fingers skimming past defined muscles that had Kyung marvelling, that _still_ has Kyung marvelling, because it’s Jiho, how could he not? And then he wraps his hand around Jiho’s cock, slowly stroking him into hardness.

//

Jiho can’t breathe too deep or else he gets stabbed with pain, so he settles with quick fast breaths that make him feel light-headed after a while. Or perhaps it’s the fact that Kyung’s jerking him off, and he’d been sure he’d never have this again – combined with the fact he’s still not himself after the ordeal they’ve been through.

Either way, though, it doesn’t matter, because soon he’s digging his fingers into Kyung’s thighs, helpless and loving it, loving the way Kyung touches him, how he kisses him – god, he’s hooked and he can’t get enough. But then again they’ve known this since day one, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise now.

“Kyung,” he huffs, pushing up the fabric of his shirt just to get to his skin, just to _touch_ , pressing his hand on Kyung’s stomach, his back, his touch gentle but still communicating just how much he needs this. Because it’s never been want between them; want would have been too easy to walk away from. No, this has always been an insatiable _need_ that kept them circling each other.

He’s about to say something more, although what he’s not entirely sure – more variations on _I love you_ and _I need you_ and _I missed you_ and _god, fucking hell, feels so fucking good_ , probably – when Kyung twists his wrist in a particular way, making Jiho rear up into him. The pain in his ribs makes him swear under his breath, eyes rolling back in his head, but still he clutches onto Kyung desperately, needing _more_.

//

“I know,” Kyung murmurs, for the second time that day. He’s saying it for the sake of filling up the silence, to give Jiho some sort of assurance that, yeah, fuck, everywhere Jiho touches leaves a trail of heat on Kyung’s skin, an imprint that’ll burn straight through his skin and never go away. He doesn’t want it to, either. Not now, not ever.

And then Jiho curses in a way that has nothing to do with Kyung’s hand on his dick and more with his ribs and Kyung laughs, the tension dissipating to give way to something lighter, something Kyung could breathe more easily in. “Ease up on yourself, will you?” he says, shifting a little more of his weight to his knees so he can card his fingers through Jiho’s hair— _god_ , even this he’d missed—as he grins at Jiho fondly, with just a little hint of smugness because Jiho’s so fucking responsive under his touch. Kyung’s expression as he looks down at Jiho is clear of whatever darkness that’d haunted him in the night, and when he leans down again, it’s to leave open mouthed kisses over the line of Jiho’s throat—over the dark purple that circles it—and all the way up to his ear.

“I want you for a long time yet, Woo Jiho. I _need_ you for a long time yet,” Kyung mumbles, letting the worries that had plagued him in the night tumble clear and easy into the daylight, to let them wash over Jiho so he knows the exact hold he has on Kyung, figuring that it’s kind of an all-or-nothing situation anyway. He picks up his pace just a little, then, just to match the speed of Jiho’s short bursts of breath, burying his face in Jiho’s hair so his final _I love you_ comes out more muffled than the rest.

//

“God,” Jiho groans, because the sound of Kyung saying those words make him seize up inside in a way that’s totally different to the pain of his ribs. “Good, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.”

Hadn’t he said those words before, at some point in time? He’d meant them, too, but they seem more poignant now, here in this crappy little motel with his sins following them around like the stench of death. Everything seems hyper-real in the wake of the way Kyung touches him, like he’s falling backwards into another universe – and God, he must still be fucked up from the violence because he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking. But that’s alright. Kyung has always known exactly what buttons to press and where to get him to come undone, fingers plucking at the threads of Jiho’s very self, making him confused and hopeless and loving it.

“Fuck,” he breathes as Kyung speeds up, making him shift his hips upwards somewhat desperately, craving release. “Fuck, Kyung.” he presses a kiss to Kyung’s neck, and then his shoulder, and then the hollow of his throat, and then everywhere he can reach until he finds himself at Kyung’s lips, gasping and pulling Kyung in for a kiss, trying to tell him just how much he loves him through this.

“Please,” Jiho whines, although he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking for. Kyung knows the answer, however, and twists his wrist, running his thumb gently over the head of Jiho’s cock and –

He comes burying his head in Kyung’s shoulder, mumbling his name helplessly, screwing his eyes shut and bucking up into Kyung’s hand over and over and over, powerless and left open in his wake.

//

Jiho comes spilling in Kyung’s hand and all he can do is stare, transfixed, at the sight of Jiho arching up, at the sight of Jiho flushing, calling Kyung’s name like that’s the only thing he knows. And that’s what he’d done, too, yesterday, when Kyung’d knelt down in front of him like a prayer, touched his hands to Jiho’s blood-soaked face and begged for Jiho to be alive.

In the end, it’s this: Jiho lying limply under Kyung, trying his hardest not to jostle his bruised ribs as he tries to catch his breath, peaceful, temporarily wiped a clean slate, unbothered, and unfettered. It’s Kyung thinking, fiercely, that even with all the wreckage that lay at their feet, this is worth it, if only he gets Jiho for this infinitesimal moment of their lives. Good things come to those who wait, right?

He waits until Jiho’s eyes blearily blink open again before cupping his cheek with Kyung’s clean palm, kisses his forehead, kisses down the bridge to the tip of his nose, kisses his lips and his chin as though each one would leave a good luck charm with Jiho. There was a time when he could’ve let this go just to see if Jiho’d come back to him again, but now, it’s with the weight of a promise that he claims Jiho’s lips again and mumbles, “Mine.”

//

Jiho’s eyes snap open at that, and, ignoring the pain that stabs him, rears up from underneath Kyung and flips him over in one disjointed clunky movement (he just can’t be smooth when he’s hurting like this), so they’re mirrored – Jiho sitting on Kyung, Kyung looking slightly stunned underneath him.

“ _Mine_ ,” Jiho growls, leaning down to kiss Kyung, gasping as his ribs protest but ignoring them to push his fingers through Kyung’s hair. “Mine.”

He must look hideous – although the blood is gone, he knows his jaw is swollen and he’s bruised all over, the purple ring around his neck matching the one Kyung had just over a week ago – but Kyung still reacts, kissing Jiho back hungrily. His hands flitter over Jiho’s body, like he’s not sure where he can touch, where’s _okay_ – but they dig into his shoulders when Jiho trails a hand down Kyung’s chest to brush over his cock teasingly.

//

Even bruised and battered and wrapped in a little too much white, Jiho looks resplendent, his mouth hanging open and red as he flips Kyung over, as he sits atop of Kyung like he wants to hold him down like this for the rest of time. _For you? Anything,_ Kyung remembers saying and he arches up into Jiho’s touch—easily, automatically, as if there was nothing else he _could_ do.   
  
“Careful,” he mumbles against Jiho’s lips; it’s a little hard to stay focused when Jiho’s gasping in surprise every so often like he’d forgotten that he isn’t, in fact, invincible. Kyung’s hand comes to a rest over the curve of Jiho’s waist to support him as best he can, still worrying about Jiho’s _posture_ and how much this must _hurt_ and, god, Jiho’s ankle too—   
  
The second Jiho’s hand curls around his cock, Kyung’s worries melt away and he flattens himself against the bed, hooking his free arm around Jiho’s neck to hold onto him. Jiho’s pace isn’t much faster than Kyung’s, stroking him off leisurely as they kiss. Kyung gasps wetly and they break apart, his moans coming out louder now that they aren’t muffled by Jiho’s mouth.

//

“You look so…” Jiho begins, looking down at Kyung. So - what? Content? Alive? _Glowing?_ “...Satisfied,” he finishes lamely, leaning down to nip gently at Kyung’s neck.

He finds that having Kyung like this, underneath him – right now it’s all he’s ever wanted and all he could ever want, so he picks up the pace, pulling Kyung’s shirt up around his armpits so he can press his hand to Kyung’s conspicuously unmarred skin, smooth and supple beneath his fingertips. He drifts his knuckles up Kyung’s ribs to tweak at his nipple, laughing as Kyung gasps.

“I love doing this,” he growls somewhat possessively, hunching over (god, his ribs are killing him) to kiss Kyung on the collarbone. “I love seeing you like this.” Kyung’s moan in response is all he’ll ever need.

//

“Yeah?” Kyung returns breathlessly as he coaxes Jiho back so he can sit up and make a show of shedding his shirt, a hard task considering that he’s wearing his grubby year 1 campus hoodie. But he keeps his eyes fixed on Jiho the entire time, and he knows how he looks—flushed, with the imprints of Jiho’s mouth already reddening against his skin. He throws his shirt aside and grins up at Jiho, only his voice comes out a little shy, this time: “Only for you.”

It’s easier, like this, with them pressed chest to chest, so Kyung can do what he’s been meaning to do and drag Jiho into his embrace, to feel his heart thudding against Kyung’s skin, so so so alive and so so so warm, even if it does make it harder for him to take any sort of control in the confined space, his cock leaking and hard in Jiho’s hand. So he whines shamelessly into their kiss, fingernails dragging almost helplessly across Jiho’s shoulders, careful not to hurt him more than necessary to egg him on.

//

Jiho has been deliberately holding himself back, because the memories of when they did this last still haunt him, and he doesn’t want to make Kyung think of it, either. Really, though, the differences are black and white between that time and now, so he sinks his teeth into Kyung’s shoulder, his neck, biting his way softly down his chest, pressing kisses all the way back up. As always, the feeling of skin contact between them – so much flesh – is intoxicating, and he strokes harder, faster, feeling Kyung tense in response underneath him.

“God, I love you,” he breathes onto Kyung’s neck, his cheek. “More than you could ever know.”

It frightens him, that love; he’s never experienced something so all-encompassing, so broad and relentless that assaults him over and over – but he finds as long as he’s got Kyung by his side he can face anything, _do_ anything, and so he just finds himself whispering Kyung’s name into his skin, imprinting it there.

//

It's the combination of Jiho's gentle bites and his confession that has Kyung helplessly trying to thrust his hips up against Jiho's hand as he comes, fingers digging into Jiho's shoulders as if he might slip away if he didn't. "Jiho," he moans out, exposing the full expanse of his flushed chest when he throws his head back and tenses. He'd wanted to say something else—to say that _he knows_ , that he'd watch Jiho kill over and over again to keep Kyung safe. And they've said a lot of dumb things to each other, poisonous shit that's meant to cut, but Kyung's not stupid. He knows.

All he can do now is slump against Jiho, cheek pressed against his shoulder as he pants, boneless, worn out, the exhaustion of the past day and night finally catching up to him with his orgasm. The room is quiet save for the hum of the noisy air-conditioning, and here, in Jiho's arms, with Jiho's lips on his sweaty forehead, he feels safe. As long as they were together, they're untouchable.

Just like that, Kyung draws back so he can cup Jiho's cheeks in his hands, still slightly breathless as Kyung studies him. Jiho looks a little quizzical, questioning, the _are you okay?_ evident in his eyes. But then Kyung draws him in a sharp, hard hug, burying his face in Jiho's hair and _inhales_. It's okay, he tells himself, eyes squeezing shut, as long as they're together, they're untouchable.

//

Jiho rolls off Kyung after a moment, wiping his hand on the side of the bed and just lying on his back, letting his ribs go back to normal for a bit before he pulls Kyung onto him, so his head is lying on Jiho’s chest, above his heart. No doubt Kyung’s exhausted, because Jiho can barely keep his eyes open and he’s the one who got a full night’s sleep, but Jiho presses a kiss to the top of his head and whispers a quiet “thank you,” into his hair.

For what, he’s not entirely sure – everything and nothing all at once. _Thank you for going to that damn laundromat. Thank you for kissing me in that change room like you wanted nobody but me. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for loving me._ All of that and more – and he opens his mouth to explain but finds he has no words, because how can you tell the person you love that you would be nothing without them, doomed to a life of murder and sin and darkness? Jiho can’t find the words, and he’s pretty sure Kyung already knows anyway, so he closes his eyes and strokes gently up and down Kyung’s back, not allowing himself to fall asleep until Kyung does.

//

Their room is dark by the time Kyung wakes up again; it's been a while since he'd slept so well, so for a moment, he doesn't know where the hell he is and panics, bolting upright and inciting a groan from Jiho when his arm slips away from its place on Kyung's shoulders. Oh, he thinks, glancing down to see Jiho drooling onto his pillow. The calm he feels is immediate and quelling, and he exhales slowly as he lowers himself again. Almost automatically, Jiho curls his arm around Kyung once more, drawing him closer and pressing his face into Jiho's hair, clearly still in need of more sleep. So Kyung complies, quiets down and traces the dark edges of Jiho's tattoos with the tip of his finger as best as he can do given that his only source of light are the streetlamps, filtering through the thin curtains.

He's still, but his mind isn't, all the worries he'd clamped down on while taking care of Jiho last night rushing in like a godamn tidal wave. What were they going to do next? Where were they going to go next? They can't stay here, as evidenced by the past few times that they'd tried to stay put _anywhere_ , and they'd driven for several hours, too. Worst of all, Jiho's injured and in no condition to do anything if someone else came biting at their heels. And Kyung honestly doesn't think he's capable of a repeat performance of what had gone down in the farmhouse. He shudders then, curling his hand a little tighter around Jiho's side and tries to think about who he'd done it for, as opposed to _what_ he'd done.

"You're thinking too loud," grouses Jiho, voice hoarse as he shifts. Kyung glances up apologetically and grins—tries to shed away that layer of heavy memories—moving up a little so he can kiss Jiho's cheek.

"Sorry," he mumbles, nose bumping against Jiho's jaw. "Didn't want to move in case I woke you."

//

“I can read your mind,” Jiho teases, touching his finger to the middle of Kyung’s forehead. “Besides, it’s time we got up, anyway.”

They’d slept for, what – a good twelve hours by the looks of things. This time his sleep had been deep and unbroken, and he hadn’t even dreamt; nor had he woken up, so he already feels better. In fact, as he shifts, the pounding in his head is gone, and although he’s still achey all over he can tell he’s beginning to heal.

He draws his arms around Kyung, holding him as close as he can without squeezing the life out of him; he doesn’t want to let go, not ever, because nothing has felt as right as having Kyung here like this. But his stomach rumbles loudly in protest so he sighs and kisses Kyung on the forehead. “I’m starving. Wanna get something to eat?”

//

"Yeah, alright," Kyung says, rolling over so he can face Jiho properly. Some of the swelling on his face'd gone down, and when Kyung reaches across him to switch on the dingy lamp, he can see that Jiho's skin is no longer as pale as it was yesterday. He wants to point out that they probably shouldn't be wandering about, or that Kyung should do it alone because a) it's not exactly as if Jiho could walk, now, and b) every time he looks at Jiho, he sees a damned bullseye painted on his back. "I should tell you that the proprietor is an old man and I'm pretty sure that he hasn't heard of room service."

Kyung'd spent half a minute conversing with the guy, who didn't seem to give a shit that Jiho was more or less passed out when they checked in. It wasn't like service quality was Kyung's key concern when he'd picked this place, anyway. He places a palm, carefully, on the breadth of Jiho's bandages, and asks, "How are you feeling?"

//

“I’m… okay,” Jiho replies, struggling upwards into a seated position and wincing. “I’d kill for some painkillers, though.”

This isn’t the worst injury he’s had – in his training period, he’d had bruises on top of bruises on top of bruises, and broken fingers and toes (they didn’t want to break the arms or the legs, because then you couldn’t train properly) on top of the abuse that didn’t leave any marks – but it’s pretty fucking bad, and he feels so genuinely useless. Kyung – Kyung can throw a punch, and he can stab a man in the neck, but he doesn’t know the technicalities of fighting; it’s Jiho’s job to protect him, and he just can’t in this condition.

Kyung’s looking at him with worried eyes as he gets up, slowly, like an old man, huffing as he goes. He finally gets onto his feet and shuffles to the bathroom, stopping dead when he sees his face in the mirror. It’s a lot worse than he’d thought; his black eye, his swollen jaw, his split lip, the ring of bruises around his neck – he looks awful, and he lifts up his shirt, looking at himself properly for the first time. There’s an even _worse_ story if ever he’s seen one; he looks like he’s been kicked around by a team of rugby players, and he hunches over, amazed at how many different shades of purple and black and blue he could be.

“How could you even stand to look at me?” he wonders out loud, only half-seriously, turning around to see Kyung watching him. “This is awful.”

//

Kyung freezes when he first hears Jiho’s throwaway comment. Which makes no sense at all—he shouldn’t be affected by it. There’s no reason to feel a cold sense of dread, of nervousness. Still, he can’t help but stare at Jiho as he hobbles into the bathroom, and only snaps into action when Jiho turns around to address him.

“Trust me, it’s not much of a difference,” Kyung informs him with a too-easy shrug as he clambers off the bed to grab Jiho’s bag, rummaging around it for the painkillers. His fingers brush over the cool leather wallets he’d stuffed in there hurriedly the night before and he quickly skips over them to retrieve the pills instead.

“‘sides,” he adds, proffering the painkillers to Jiho, as he slides his arm carefully around Jiho’s waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder to look them both over in the mirror. If he’s being honest, the bruises littering Jiho’s body makes him feel a little nauseous, but he’s not exactly the one who’d been beaten within an inch of his life, so he really has no place to comment. What he _can_ do is press a kiss to the back of Jiho’s ear, slowly working his way down to Jiho’s shoulder as he murmurs, “It’s not like I keep you around for your looks.”

//

“True,” Jiho shrugs, swallowing the painkillers dry. “So I can shave off all my hair, then? And break my nose?” He turns away from his hideous reflection to slip his arms around Kyung’s neck. “And lose a few teeth?”

Kyung pulls a face, and Jiho laughs and then gasps at the pain, not expecting it. Fuck. It’s been a while since he had broken ribs, and he hated it as much then as he does now. Still, he’s hungry, so he presses a kiss to Kyung’s forehead tenderly and smiles down at him, although it’s more of a teeth grit than a smile because his ribs are really killing him. “What should we do for food? I… I don’t know if you grabbed any from the house…” he trails off and looks at a spot on the wall so he doesn’t have to look Kyung in the eyes at this acknowledgement of how useless he was. “You had other priorities.”

//

Kyung finds it ironic that they’ve literally been through multiple near-death situations and they _still_ can’t look each other in the eye when they talk about those near-death situations.

“Yeah, and my priority doesn’t know how stupid he is for getting out of bed,” Kyung says, thinking about stepping over those dead bodies, about confiscating their IDs in a half-brained attempt to keep the police at bay or whatever the hell it is that tended to come chasing with these sorts of murders. As far as Kyung can tell, there was no backlash whatsoever, except they seemed to multiply every time Jiho killed off a few.

He plants his hands on Jiho’s hips and slowly walks him back to bed, to sit him down on the dark red sheets—probably to hide all the dubious stains that Kyung doesn’t want to think about—and just stays there, for a moment. “There’s a 24-hour store across the road from this place—” Kyung jabs his thumb in the air at the window “—I’ll grab something… and I’ll try to avoid the tinned food and the ramen. What else do you want me to get?” It’s in that moment that he realizes how he sounds like, that the roles between the both of them had reversed, essentially. It makes Kyung want to laugh—for how much he’d hated being cooped up in Jiho’s safehouses, he’d gladly revert back to that if it means that the incidents of the past week hadn’t transpired at all.

//

Jiho tilts his head to the side as he reaches for Kyung’s hand, considering. “Chocolate,” he hums, flipping Kyung’s wrist over and pressing a soft kiss to the exact spot where he now has a scar on his own wrist. “I have a weird craving for it. And maybe some pepero?”

If chocolate and pepero is what his body needs to heal, he’s not going to protest. So he watches as Kyung busies himself to leave the motel room, putting on proper clothes (Jiho realises, ironically, that they’re probably going to have to find a laundromat soon). Jiho nods at his wallet and tells Kyung the pin to his credit card, warning him not to go _too_ crazy.

And then he’s alone for the first time since it all started, and he lies back on the bed carefully, groaning out loud at the pain wracking through him that he can finally allow himself to feel fully. Because he’d been tamping it down in front of Kyung, not wanting to appear weak; it’s not an image thing, but because they both know that he’s the strong one out of the both of them, and if he’s debilitated then they really have no hope. So he lifts his ankle off the floor and rolls it, hissing as he assesses the damage, taking deep breaths to gauge exactly how bad his ribs are.

He should probably sleep – in fact, despite the fact he’s just woken up he feels tiredness creeping up on him again, his body trying desperately to heal the only way it knows how (or perhaps it’s just the drugs kicking in) – but he feels anxiety snarl in his gut. It’s not for him, it’s for Kyung, and he hopes to god Kyung at least tucked away one of his knives or something, because god knows they’re still out there somewhere looking for him. Ordinarily he’d be pacing, but consider he can only really hobble and stumble he settles for sitting cross-legged on the bed, flicking mindlessly through the TV channels, not paying attention to anything at all.

//

Kyung ends up spending an hour in the convenience store.

It’s one of those places that’s stacked high with goods that had been shelved five years ago and never touched again. That is to say it’s dusty, cramped, slightly claustrophobic, and all too easy to get caught up in choosing between different sorts of useless things. Kyung’d never realized how _normal_ it felt to be buying things, even if the the stuff in his basket wasn’t quite atypical for him. Sure, there was the typical frozen food (pizza, seafood pancake, some kind of broth that was probably good for Jiho, dumplings, grilled chicken, noodles; Kyung’s criteria for picking food out had been less logical and more of whether or not his stomach growled when he saw the picture on the front) and there were five boxes of pepero and miscellaneous chocolates and snacks, but there was also fruit juice (the same one Jiho’d bought back at the first house, with the garish cartoon on the front) and an empty sketchbook and a pencil sharpener and numbing cream and soap and toothbrushes and toothpaste. By the time he checks out with the grumpy, teenaged cashier, he’d managed to procure a fucking candle and some matchsticks too.

That had taken approximately fifteen minutes. He’d spent the subsequent forty-five standing by the dingy, worn out microwave that the store had, heating everything up. Which, really, gave him a little too much time to let his worries seep in, and he’s accrued a fuckton of things to shit himself over in this time span. So he busies himself with trying to figure out how to carry all the piping hot food back into their room.

When he gets back with a cardboard box in his arms, Jiho’s asleep, slumped against the headboard with his chin digging into his chest. Kyung blinks and the scene changes—Jiho with his head head lolling, with his face dripping with blood, with the man standing in front of him again ( _But I killed you_ , Kyung thinks, _I saw you choke on your own blood_ ). He takes an involuntary step back and the box falls from his arms, startling Jiho awake.

“Sorry,” Kyung immediately says, flustered, sinking to the floor to assess the damage. Nothing’d spilled except for a bit of the broth, thankfully, because they were still in the packaging they came in. “It slipped—no don’t you dare get up.” And then he’s unloading the food he’d bought onto the bed, grinning up at Jiho as he upends the box and sticks the candle right in the centre to light it up. It’s probably a fire hazard, but that’s really the least of his concerns now. “All we need is some smooth jazz, and _then_ we can call it a date,” Kyung announces, blowing the matchstick out as he slides in next to Jiho.

//

“What about the rose petals?” Jiho murmurs, nuzzling Kyung’s hair and then kissing Kyung briefly, gently, sweetly. “Can’t be a real romantic date without those.”

Kyung laughs, and Jiho thinks he’s never gonna get tired of that sound – especially when Kyung crinkles up his face like that; he looks beautiful and he looks happy, and even if Jiho knows he’s not it’s okay to pretend for a while.

“Did you get my pepero?” he asks, sitting up to paw through the pile of food at the end of the bed – and as he does so he realises he can breathe easily, move a little bit more freely; the painkillers have well and truly kicked in now and he feels a lot better. His fingers close around the pepero and he rips open the packaging, shoving a stick into his mouth and grinning happily at Kyung, sure he’s got chocolate stuck in his teeth. “Thanks.”

//

Kyung snorts as he watches Jiho eat—he’d specifically purchased a bunch of food that could resemble, at least, a restaurant meal, and of course the pepero is what Jiho goes in first for. He makes a mental note, however, sticks “likes pepero” under “likes disgustingly processed juice”, and files it away for future use.

It’s not until he’s opening the soup container that the image returns to him again—his hands coming away with red when he touches Jiho’s face, blood coagulating on the floor in a gleaming pool—that he chokes out a, “Gotta wash my hands,” and makes a beeline for the bathroom. This can’t keep happening. He can’t keep blinking and seeing these things; it’s not the first time he’s seen blood. It’s not even the first time he’d seen a dead body, but the image returns to him again and again.

 _If you didn’t do it_ , he tells himself, gripping the edge of the sink tightly, _if you tried only to incapacitate him, then you would be dead by now._ Jiho _would be dead._ The last thought helps brace him a little more. He turns on the tap to actually wash his hands and to splash water on his face before exiting the bathroom.

“I bought something else for you,” Kyung says, because he knows if he’d just quietly slipped back next to Jiho, he’d know. And he has other things to deal with right now. “Here.” Kyung rummages in the plastic bag he’d dumped by the door and pulls out the sketchbook—cheap, nothing at all like Jiho’s current one—and hands it to Jiho as he clambers back onto the bed. “I remember yours is almost finished.”

//

Jiho knows something is wrong – he’s so fine-tuned to Kyung now that it’s almost instinctual. But it doesn’t really have to be, when Kyung goes pale and rushes off to the bathroom, muttering an excuse under his breath; it’s pretty fucking blatant. Jiho puts the pepero down and is in the middle of the long process of getting off the bed when Kyung returns, pulling a sketchbook out from the plastic bag near the door and handing it to him.

He’s torn with warring desires – throw the damn sketchbook away to cup Kyung’s face in his hands and tell him it’s alright, Jiho still sees the faces, it will fade with time; or to pretend everything is normal and gloss over the fact Kyung is still several shades paler than normal. He knows which one Kyung wants, judging by the fact he’s looking almost pleadingly at Jiho, _expectantly_.

In the end, Jiho settles on some amalgamation of both, picking up the sketchbook in his hands and flipping through, marvelling at the expanse of creamy, empty paper that makes Jiho’s fingers itch with the urge to draw. He runs his fingers over it, closing his eyes and imagining all the things that spring to mind; most prominent is the image of Kyung kneeling in front of him to wrap a bandage around his ankle with care. But he shakes himself and looks back up at Kyung, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know you’re gonna have to pose for me some more, right? But thank you. I love it.”

He leans forward to brush his knuckles over Kyung’s cheek softly. “Are you alright?”

//

Kyung briefly considers lying because it’d be so much easier just to say ‘yes’ and then stuff his face with food. Thinking about it makes him nauseous, let alone talking about it. Aloud. To Jiho. It makes his stomach churn with a combination of fear and guilt and helplessness. If he’d had anything in the past few hours, he’d be busy emptying his stomach in the toilet by now.

“I keep seeing it,” he confesses as he sucks in a deep breath, flashing Jiho a weak smile that’s meant to be reassuring. He can guess what Jiho’s going to reply—the perfunctory “it takes time” punctuated with a lot of Jiho’s own guilt. Because it’s not like this is something he can just forget at will, it’s not like Jiho can do something and Kyung will be able to go on like he hadn’t done it, though Jiho kissing him comes pretty damn close to that. “The— you know. His face. And when he—” Kyung reaches out to pick up a plastic fork, needing something to do with his hands “—and how he sounded when he was—I went back to take our stuff and he was just… _staring_.”

He wants to ask Jiho how he’s been dealing with it, how he’s done it so many times and kept on living his life, but he knows the answer to _that_ , too: Jiho hasn’t. There’s a scar on his wrist that speaks for that, amongst all the other invisible ones that Kyung’d only seen glimpses of. And really, between the two of them, it really shouldn’t be Jiho’s job to ask this question.

//

Jiho falls silent at that. He’d half-expected Kyung to brush it off, because they seem to be desperately trying to protect each other in the wake of all that’s happened. But he doesn’t, and the rawness of his confession shocks Jiho into silence as he reaches for one of the containers of broth slowly, considering.

“I understand,” he replies quietly, keeping his eyes on his food. “It – I still…” he drags a hand over his face heavily. “All of the people I’ve killed still walk with me, after all these years. But they fade. They get quieter.” He catches one of Kyung’s hands in his own and kisses his knuckles gently. “I don’t wanna sound like a fucking cliché, but it gets better. Especially because you’re strong. You have your family and Jaehyo and Taeil.”

He sees Kyung looking at him dubiously, and offers him a watery smile. “And you’ve got me.”

//

Only Kyung can never tell Jaehyo or Taeil about any of this. Firstly because he highly doubts they’d believe it if he _does_ tell them, and secondly because they don’t deserve the knowledge of any of this. And then there’s the fact that Jiho thinks he’s _strong_ when, really, he’d had his head in the sand this entire time, trying to pretend that everything would go back to normal when it never was going to be the same. There might’ve been a point where he could pivot back and return to his original position—with the hopes that he’d be able to take Jiho with him—but that’s long gone now, they’ve swung so far away from that point that they’ve left the damn stratosphere entirely.

But then Jiho smiles at him and Kyung thinks, _fuck it_ , and leans over to kiss Jiho on the lips as he says, “I know,” and grins, amping up the salacity just because he doesn’t know what else to do. He curls his hand over the back of Jiho’s neck, thumb running over the bruises there as they look at each other and, for the first time, feels a little sense of vindication for doing what he’d done. So it’s with sincerity that he adds, “All I need is you,” thinking, _no one should be allowed to touch you like that_ and _now no one ever will._

//

“Damn straight,” Jiho grins, kissing Kyung back before pulling away to grab a spoon. “And you’ve got me for as long as you want me.”

He winks at Kyung before diving into the broth, realising apart from the pepero he’d just inhaled he hasn’t eaten in god-knows-how-long. So he slurps it up noisily, closing his eyes and making exaggerated moaning noises. It’s not the best thing he’s ever tasted, but it’s hot and it’s filling and it does its job, invigorating him as he finishes it all and smacks his lips.

If he’s honest, though, he knows they’re both drifting. How long will they be on the run? How many times will they have to leap in the car and drive away from a bloodbath? What is their next step? This is alright for a few more days at most, before they have to leave again, once he’s able to walk properly… But then to where?

He finds himself missing his apartment fiercely, slightly surprised at himself. Before this his places were just a roof over his head; now there are shared memories there (he knows that’s where it all came crashing down, he _knows_ that, but there’s also memories of waking up with Kyung wrapped around him and that is too precious to forget) and he mourns it. So he looks up at Kyung, who is still eating, and smiles, trying to banish his worries.

//

“Are you finishing that by yourself?” Kyung asks, nudging Jiho gently with his elbow as he purposely eyes his soup, because Jiho’d gone quiet and Kyung knows it’s not only because of the food, ravenous as they both may be. It’s easy to tell when Jiho’s thinking when Kyung’d spent so much time with him. Which is ironic—their situation was the last thing Kyung would’ve agreed to if someone told him that this is how he’s going to be able to learn more about Woo Jiho. “ _I_ don’t get any?”

Even as he’s saying that, he’s holding onto one end of an unfinished, greasy chicken wing. It tastes disgusting but it’s meat that didn’t come from a tinned can or in the form of processed chewy cubes in their ramen flavouring packets, so he’ll take what he can. Besides, he’s not sure when the next time he’s going to be able to eat a chicken wing, and it’s that that has him asking the question he’s been avoiding the whole time: “What are we going to do now?”

He’d only checked into this room for five days, figuring that the faster they move, the better it will be. There’s a farmhouse in the wilderness not far from where they were that housed four corpses of their making, and Kyung doesn’t want to be around when they start interrogating the citizens of this absurdly small town about what they know.

//

Jiho snags a piece of Kyung’s chicken and chews on it thoughtfully while his mind ticks over the possibilities. He’s all out of safe houses, and there’s no way they’re going home – so their only option is…

“We keep moving,” he mumbles around the chicken, sighing. “It’s the only thing we can do, really. Stay in one town for a few days, and then move to the next. Paying with cash, changing cars…” he catches the expression on Kyung’s face and feels incredibly guilty, suddenly no longer hungry. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.”

The guilt that’s been lingering once again leaps into the forefront of his mind. If he could just go back to that day in the laundromat – he’d like to say he’d be able to turn and walk away, but knowing what he does now? Knowing what he feels for Kyung? He’s not entirely sure he’d be able to, which makes everything worse, somehow, and he sags, putting the chicken down.

//

“Feeling guilty?” Kyung questions, but his tone is light, teasing. Jiho’s guilt had been palpable from… from the first incident at his apartment, really. Kyung had been too occupied with looking inwards to realize what Jiho’d been trying to say all along, why he’d agreed to take Kyung on this wild goose chase in the first place—because he’s guilty and he doesn’t know what else to do. “Then eat—” Kyung drags the box of cooling pizza over from the foot of the bed and onto Jiho’s lap with a hand “—‘cause if you don’t recover from this, I’m gonna have a hard time explaining to Jaehyo why you’re mostly purple.”

It’s a cheap shot, using Jiho’s guilt to leverage for him to come back with Kyung, but that’s what he wants. He can’t imagine Jiho trying to suggest anything else: disappearing entirely, telling Kyung he’s better off alone, or some other excuse that’s equally as terrifying as that. Kyung wants to say that he knows that there are things worse than dying, but he’s _absolutely not_ going to die, so there’s that. Not after what he’d done to get to this dingy motel room in the first place.

“Anyway,” Kyung adds, because Jiho still looks largely unconvinced and defeated and Kyung _hates_ that, “I’ll just think of it as an extended road trip. Haven’t done anything like this before, honestly.” He hasn’t seen so many people die either, but that’s not really the argument that Jiho wants to hear. And when it comes down to it, when he weighs the pros and cons out, sets out the list of things that made it _worth it_ (spoiler: there’s only one) and things that made it a complete shitshow, Jiho far outweighs everything else.

//

Somewhat dejectedly, Jiho grabs a slice of pizza and takes a bite, chewing and swallowing before replying. “We could make it fun… Or as fun as it possibly can be. We can go to the beach.”

The thought of that brightens him a little bit, even though they’re nearly into winter now and as such the water will be fucking freezing, but he’s been through enough of that in his training to know that won’t bother him. So he perks up a little bit and leans forward to press the briefest of kisses against Kyung’s lips, before waggling his eyebrows obscenely. “We could go skinny dipping.”

//

Kyung snorts, snaking his arm around Jiho’s shoulder as he goes in for another kiss, finally ditching his chicken wing back into its packaging so he can focus on looking at Jiho. “We don’t have to get hypothermia for you to get me naked,” Kyung informs him, wiping his hand on his pants so he can press his (relatively clean) palm against Jiho’s cheek. “All you gotta do is say the word and—” Kyung snaps his fingers “—naked.”

But if he’s honest, the prospect of the beach, even in this freezing cold winter, is the first time he’d felt even a spark of excitement throughout this entire trip. Here is something that didn’t involve the both of them being cooped up for days on end whilst waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then the shoe after that. And then the shoe after _that_. It feels a little more like something that would happen when they were back home, like something either one of them would suggest after seeing a flyer or a movie or—

“But you’re not kidding, right?” Kyung asks, as seriously as he can. Jiho’s the one calling the shots here, and for all Kyung knows, he has a beach place as one of his hide-outs. How many hide-outs does he have? And how many times had he found the need to use them? “Because the skinny dipping is _out_ , but I wanna see the beach with you.”

//

Jiho shakes his head. “Nope, not joking. It’ll be fun.” He picks up the chicken that Kyung has just put down and takes a huge bite, grinning cheekily as Kyung makes a noise. “We’ll leave when I’m able to walk properly. Which will be soon. Hell, if I’m hopped up on painkillers I could probably run a damn marathon.”

They fall into silence, Kyung snatching the chicken out of Jiho’s hand to take the last bite, making Jiho laugh long and loud into the emptiness of the motel; he’s probably a little bit hysterical, because he can’t remember the last time he laughed properly and the painkillers make him feel a little bit high. But it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, because soon Kyung is laughing along with him, and that’s enough for him; he never wants to hear anything else.


	16. Chapter 16

“When I’m able to walk properly” for Jiho turns out to be when he finally manages to convince Kyung that popping one too many painkillers and hobbling around passed off as normal. He’s antsy to get out of here, Kyung knows that, can read it all over his face whenever Kyung takes a little too long on a convenience store run. The motel room is small and stuffy and someone like Jiho wasn’t meant to stay behind curtains for long. So they go, albeit having argued a little right as they packed up, with Kyung still insisting that they should stay another half a week, at least. It’s not the kind of fight that they’d had at the farmhouse—Kyung doesn’t think they’d ever be able to fight like that again—but it’s the kind that Kyung’s more familiar with, that involved a lot of sighing and eye-rolling and Kyung’d dearly _missed_ this, jesus christ.

But they make it to the car without much fanfare, and Jiho gives Kyung directions to get to the nearest beach. Half-way through the two hour drive, Jiho slides his hand over to slide his palm over Kyung’s and Kyung sighs, squeezing his hand back. They spend the next hour trying to find a radio station that actually works when they’re this far out on the road, trying to distract themselves from the uncertainty of their near future. The motel, while terribly small and terribly choked with bad memories, was safe. Nothing had happened there, and nothing seemed to happen there, because Kyung’s pretty sure even the Organization wanted to avoid a shithole like that.

The air at the beach hotel that they check into is _freezingly_ cold and Kyung is convinced that Jiho isn’t a hundred percent human when he doesn’t even shiver after walking for so damn long from the parking lot to the building. Jiho just flashes him a mysterious grin when Kyung calls him out on it and drapes his arm around Kyung’s shoulders, as if that explained everything. It’s the late afternoon by the time they collapse into the bed in their room, their things piled in a heap by the door. “I never want to move again,” Kyung says dramatically, groaning as he flings his arm over his face.

//

The motel room had actually kind of grown on him after a while because, honestly, it was _safe_ , because no one came knocking with guns like the last places they’d been. But it was small and shitty and his instincts were telling him to _run_ , to _get out_ , because they were perilously close to the old farmhouse – and so they had. Which is how they’d ended up here in a quaint little hotel on the beach that, thankfully, had accepted cash in hand (they’d stopped at banks on the way, Jiho getting Kyung to pull out varying amounts of cash with his personal card – he’d already cut up the one the Organisation had given him). The room is open and wide and he suspects it’s lovely in summer, but right now it’s cold, and, while it doesn’t bother him, Kyung is shivering.

“Come here,” Jiho murmurs, tugging at Kyung’s shoulder until he rolls over into Jiho’s arms, so they end up a tangled mess of limbs. Jiho wraps his arms around Kyung and holds him tight, feels him stop shivering slowly. “You don’t have to. We can stay here forever if you’d like.”

He entertains that thought for a second – it wouldn’t be so bad, life on the run, as long as he had Kyung; some real Thelma and Louise type shit – before brushing it away. As much as he hates the thought of bursting the (however temporary) bubble of sanctity they’ve created, he misses Seoul and he knows he has to face the music at one point or another… Once he’s certain this has all died down, of course.

He pulls back to kiss Kyung on the forehead, and then on the nose, and then on the lips, closing his eyes happily and tracing patterns down Kyung’s back through his shirt.

//

It’s a tantalizing promise, if Kyung’s honest with himself. He’s so used to seeing Jiho and being with Jiho that the thought of resuming a normal life felt a little strange. It’s going to be hard to get used to not seeing Jiho at every turn, to not having him within an arm’s length. But then again, Kyung misses his bed and he misses Jaehyo’s sleep-crusted mug and he misses going home to eat his mother’s food and—

“Why don’t we go to the beach?” Kyung suggests, grinning up lazily at Jiho, needing something to distract him from the sudden wave of homesickness, even if it _is_ frigidly cold out there. “Let me just—” Kyung clambers off of Jiho with one last peck to his cheek, then rummages around his bag for a jumper he’d packed on day one and never used, pulling it on over his hoodie so he looks a little more than a walking pillow. “C’mon old man, I’ll walk you out.”

Slowly, with Kyung’s arm around Jiho’s waist—more for a contact thing than a support thing, really—they make their way down from their floor and out onto the boardwalk where it really is fucking freezing. It’s one thing to be out in the evening in the late autumn, but it’s another thing to be out near an endless body of water. It’s worth it, though, for the way the slowly setting sun illuminates Jiho’s profile, for the way his long hair whips in the wind, until Kyung’s getting more hair than skin when he leans up to kiss Jiho’s temple.

//

Jiho’s seen Kyung in all different types of lighting, now – bathing in the pale, milky light of the moon; a pale blue making him seem sadder than he really was – but this one takes the cake for the most beautiful, by far. The soft oranges and pinks and yellows make Kyung look like he’s glowing from the inside out, like he’s happy and it’s radiating through every pore, and Jiho can’t look at him for too long because it’s gonna hurt his eyes, so he kisses him on the cheek, feeling light and airy. And then he pulls away, stepping out of his shoes and leaving them behind as he walks out onto the sand, sighing at the feel of it beneath his feet, waiting for Kyung to catch up to him.

Like this, it’s so easy to forget what they are, who he is; all there is is the two of them, simple and uncomplicated, and as Jiho grabs Kyung’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and begins tugging him gently towards the water, he realises he really could stay here forever. Because right now even a drawing can’t capture how enraptured Kyung is and it makes him shiver; he almost feels God’s presence here, and that’s something he hasn’t felt in the longest time.

“Come on, I wanna stick my toes in the water,” Jiho moans, tugging Kyung along, shooting him a grin as his hair whips around his face, getting in his eyes. “I’m an injured old man, you have to obey me.”

//

He can physically feel his feet trying to shrink back up into his body at the thought of dipping them into the ice-cold water, but he glances up and sees Jiho’s back framed in gold—the broad planes of his shoulders that had gotten so familiar in such a short time, the slight limp in his step that he’s pretending _isn’t_ there, the way he glances back and looks at Kyung with unadulterated joy—and he thinks, _I’d follow you anywhere_. Caught off by his sudden swell of affection, he toes off his shoes as well, abandoning them on the sand behind them.

Jiho’s calm when the first low wave washes over his feet, eyes closed like he’s having a religious experience. Kyung, on the other hand, is trying his hardest not to run back out of the water. So he grips on tightly to Jiho’s hand and scoots in closer, toes digging into the sand to try and acclimatize to the sudden change in temperature.

After a while, it gets better. Or he’d completely started losing the feeling in his feet. Whichever one doesn’t matter, because now he can glance around at the wide expanse of calm grey ocean, glittering under the dying sun, he can watch Jiho tip his face up against the sky, like all his worries and concerns and guilt have been washed away. Yeah, alright—sometimes frostbite is worth it.

//

A great sense of peace washes over Jiho as he stands here, the freezing water lapping against his ankles making him feel so very _alive_. It’s here, on this beach, with Kyung’s hand in his, that  he knows it’s all going to be alright, one way or another. Whatever comes their way they’ve got each other, and they’ve got _this_ , and that’s all they’ll ever need.

So it’s with a cheeky smile that he turns to Kyung and kisses him gently on the lips, before putting a hand on his shoulder and _shoving_ , sending him spilling towards the water; and it’s with a loud, belly-aching laugh that he doubles over as Kyung splashes into the water with a shout that’s more like a scream.

“Oh my god,” Jiho cackles, one hand gripping his shirt, the other slapping his thigh uselessly. “How cold is it?”

//

Even though he hadn't even broken the water's surface, Kyung shrieks. Not only because he hadn't been expecting that, but the water is so _fucking freezing_ that for a moment, Kyung feels like he's falling into a fucking block of ice. He flounders, for a moment, feeling shifting sand under his hands and feet as he struggles to get up, when he realizes that Jiho is _laughing_. Not the amused kind of smile he has whenever Kyung says something particularly stupid, not even the kind of warm chuckle he gets when he thinks he’s being funny, but a full-out, deep-throated, doubled-over, can’t-believe-himself-type laugh.

That’s the catalyst for Kyung to shoot his arm out, making a wild grab for Jiho’s shin to drag him in as well. This time, his splashing _does_ soak Kyung from head to toe, and he gasps as he drags his hand through his wet hair, arm hanging heavy with the weight of his jumper _and_ hoodie.

“You’re the worst,” Kyung accuses through chattering teeth as he smacks the surface of the water to splash Jiho some more. The bastard appears both unphased and _still_ amused, which makes it hard for Kyung to even remotely be annoyed. He pushes himself up into a standing position, but the wind whipping around him is somehow worse than actually _staying_ in the water.

//

“Am I?” Jiho grins, stalking closer, swishing his hands along the surface of the water ominously. “Am I really?”

And then he’s tackling Kyung, ignoring the way his ribs protest at the cold and the violent movement, sending the both of them crashing down together. The water’s not deep enough for them to be properly submerged, but Kyung’s head goes in anyway and he gasps as he breaks the surface of the water, splashing and carrying on like Jiho’s trying to drown him.

Jiho sits back on his ass underwater, the water lapping at his chest, and laughs, pushing his hair back from his face. “Alright, I’ve had my fun. You look like you’re going to turn into an ice block and float away.”

//

Jiho’s much stronger than him, so Kyung struggling is only forcing more water up his nose. He struggles anyway, and the frigid cold doesn’t let up every single time he goes down, so he ends up with saltwater in his mouth and saltwater up his nose and one satisfied looking Woo Jiho.

“Fuck you,” Kyung splutters, as he stands up and quickly moves away from Jiho lest he feels like a repeat performance is necessary, but he trips over his own two feet and nearly goes diving straight into the water again. “If I die like this, I know who I’m haunting!” Kyung hollers accusingly in in Jiho’s general direction as he trudges out of the water with what little dignity he has left, futilely trying to squeeze the water of his clothes. It’s not until he’s standing by his shoes again that he realizes that, yeah, it’s pretty fucking cold and his clothes are hanging off of him like icy chains. So he picks up his shoes and flips Jiho the finger as he makes the arduous, _freezing_ walk back to their room.

//

Jiho laughs into the air, staring out at the horizon at the setting sun, low and swollen and heavy on the water. With a sigh, he flops backwards so he’s floating in the shallows, the cold making his teeth chatter after a few minutes. But still he stays, just for a little bit, enjoying the little corner of the earth he’s staked out, all his worries washing away with the waves that lap at him. He stays until his pulse is thrumming in his ears and his fingers are heavy and waterlogged, at which point he hauls himself out of the water and begins the trek back to the hotel, picking up his shoes on the way.

He makes his way through the hotel room, heading towards the bathroom and stripping his clothes as he goes – his shirt in the living room, his jeans in the hall, his underwear just outside the bathroom. He turns the handle to go in and is immediately enveloped in hot steam; squinting, he makes out Kyung looking blissful underneath the shower, the hot tap turned down all the way.

“It’s like a fucking sauna in here,” Jiho says, taking a step forward and sliding the shower door open so he can slip in behind Kyung, wrapping his arms around his waist, sighing as the hot water hits his skin. “Mmm… This is nice.”

//

Kyung’d never done anything faster in his life than strip down and stick himself under the hot spray of the shower, thanking the gods that they had moved on from that shitty motel and into this place, that actually seemed concerned about the living conditions of their patrons.

So he jumps when Jiho slips into the shower behind him, not because of his sudden appearance, but because Jiho had the body temperature of a freezer, and Kyung’s skin had already started to redden from the heat.

“Jesus _christ_ ,” Kyung says, whirling around so he can slap a palm in the middle of Jiho’s chest to stop him from coming closer and registers that, yeah, he was pretty much touching an iceberg. There’s a story here about how suspiciously tolerant Jiho is to pain and to freakishly cold elements, but Kyung doesn’t know if he’s ready to stomach _more_ just yet. “Alright, Jack Frost, some of us are only human.”

Still, he steps a little way back in the shower to make room for Jiho to stand under the spray. He’d planned to at least be a little pissed off, but as it is, he’s finding it hard to keep a straight face when Jiho’s grinning so damn widely.

//

“You loved it,” Jiho replies, the hot water streaming down his face and bringing his limbs back to life. “You got to see my wet t-shirt clinging to every inch of me...” he trails off as Kyung smacks him on the shoulder, and grins widely.

After a few more seconds, he steps out of the path of the water and gently guides Kyung back in – he looks like he needs it more than Jiho, anyway. Jiho turns to see the little bottles of shampoo, conditioner and bodywash that they give you in places like this, and grabs the body wash, squeezing some onto Kyung’s shoulders and massaging it in with his fingertips, watching the bubbles form as Kyung tips his head back.

//

“As if you didn’t spend every single day in that motel room naked,” Kyung points out, although he’s right. Kyung much prefers this version of Jiho that’s relaxed and at ease and not looking over his shoulder every three seconds. It’s the Jiho’d fallen in love with, at first, the one who’d smirked at him as they wove through racks of expensively hideous outfits, the one who’d appeared at his doorstep at virtually midnight and agreed to a weird tryst on the roof, right before things started falling apart.

It’s this that has him sliding his arms around Jiho’s neck, that has him pressing closer, soap suds and foam and all, so he can kiss Jiho’s cheek—still cold—then his lips—marginally warmer, finally grinning when he feels Jiho’s arms come around his waist, too. “I swear you’re not human,” Kyung says between kisses, tugging Jiho backwards so they’re out of the spray of the water that, at this point, had become more annoying than welcome.

//  


“No, I’m a vampire hunter,” Jiho parrots, harkening back to _before_ (because everything is, of course, defined by a big fat line in the sand of _before_ and _after_ it all went to shit), tugging Kyung closer. “I’m actually a robot.”

If he was a robot he wouldn’t be broken right now – and although his ribs are healing it’s not fast enough for his tastes, and although his ankle is nearly better he still walks with a limp and he _hates_ it. So he kisses Kyung properly, stepping backwards until the cold of the tiles is pressing up against his ass and his back, making him inhale sharply. Perhaps, though, it’s Kyung that makes him do that, who is now pressing up against Jiho so firmly it’s like he’s trying to become one blobby entity, his hands playing with the ends of Jiho’s hair, tugging the strands gently. Here, in the steam, it almost feels like they could fade away into the mist and cease to exist entirely; the only thing that’s keeping him grounded is Kyung, hot and real and solid underneath his fingertips.

//

Had Jiho said this before the farmhouse, Kyung would’ve cause to believe it. He’d seen one too many A.I. movies to know that anything was possible, anyway. And he’d seen Jiho take down men with a gun like they were both in the matrix. But he’d also seen Jiho with his eyes red, with the gash on his wrist even redder, he’d seen Jiho literally bleed out in front of him, and—alright, that’s not territory he wants to remotely approach, so Kyung pulls away from the kiss, a little breathlessly as he grins up at Jiho, carding his fingers through Jiho’s wet hair. He tastes like salt and something intrinsically Jiho that Kyung would say was probably more addicting than drugs.

“Yeah?” Kyung says teasingly as he drags his hand down Jiho’s front, his palm hot against Jiho’s not-quite warm skin. He grips Jiho’s hip—where a large, boot-shaped bruise’s _finally_ healing, colouring his pale skin a sickly green—and digs the pad of his thumb in, pressing a line down the curve of it slowly. “I don’t think robots can feel this, right?” And then he’s curling his hand over Jiho’s length, rubbing his thumb against the underside of the head of Jiho’s cock whilst wearing his best shit-eating grin.

//

Jiho’s just about to open his mouth to complain about Kyung poking him on one of his bruises, but that thought – and any others – flies out of his head the moment Kyung curls his hand around Jiho’s cock. He reaches for Kyung blindly, his hands finding Kyung’s hip, his arm, his shoulder before reaching the back of Kyung’s neck to pull him in for a hungry kiss, tracing Kyung’s bottom lip with his tongue before biting down gently.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his other hand sweeping down the length of Kyung’s body to grip his hips, pulling him closer, the length of his hardness pressing into his own hip. “Fuck, Kyung.”

He no longer feels ethereal and in danger of floating away; no, he is very much here and present, grounded by nothing but the feeling of Kyung (his hips, his cock, his hand, everything) and the way he’s stroking Jiho leisurely, like they’ve got all the time in the world. And, he supposes, they have.

//

Jiho can pretend to be a cyborg all he wants, but Kyung knows how easily it is to turn Jiho into a needy mess, to have his hands flutter all over Kyung’s body, like he can’t decide where he wants to place them, like he wants to be everywhere all at once. And Kyung knows exactly how that feels—they kiss with the same enthusiasm and hunger as they had the first time they’d met, too, only now it was with the knowledge that this is something for the long-run.

“Yeah?” Kyung asks lightly, teasingly, as though Jiho had called his name from the other room. He’s grinning—with his lower lip caught between his teeth—as he watches Jiho’s expression screw up before he tips his head back and looks down at Kyung with half-mast lids. That look sends a shiver down Kyung’s spine, even though they were literally standing in the middle of a steamy bathroom. So he loosens his grip only to wrap both their cocks in his palm—struggling only just the slightest—and begins to stroke them off in unison, planting his free hand on Jiho’s shoulder to give himself a little leverage for the height difference.

//

Just when Jiho thinks he’s seen it all Kyung goes and does something that knocks him for six, and him wrapping his hand around the both of their cocks and jerking them off together is exactly that. He tips his head back onto the tiles, feeling Kyung’s nails dig into his shoulder, and moans over the noise of the running water.

“You’re going to kill me,” he groans, opening his eyes to look down at Kyung, who is looking slightly determined and very turned on. “Cause of death, Park Kyung.”

He grips Kyung’s hips a little tighter and thrusts up into Kyung’s hand somewhat helplessly, because they both know by now that Kyung knows exactly what to do to get him to turn into a boneless mess, like now. It’s all he can do to hang on as the sensations wash over him, the steam cloaking them so thick now that Kyung looks like he may fade away.

//

“Are you complaining?” Kyung returns a little breathlessly as he tips forward to rest his forehead against Jiho’s shoulder. Jiho’s hands on his hips are warm and anchoring, and Kyung wants to close his eyes and just remember this moment that, for a second, everything seemed perfect. That even though Jiho still limps when he walks, he’s smiling like the person Kyung remembers from the aquarium, like the person Kyung’d seen glimpses of throughout this entire shitshow.

He ends up with his arms circling Jiho’s neck to draw him into a heated kiss as he tries and walks them backwards and out of the bathroom. He wanted to do this properly, now that they were free of the suffocating air of the motel room, of the farmhouse, and at a place that could make Jiho look like _that_ , but he nearly trips over the ledge dividing the two rooms, and has to cling onto Jiho’s arm for purchase as he breaks the kiss to laugh.

//

“Now who’s the one dying?” Jiho teases, scooping Kyung into his arms easily (his ribs scream at him, but he simply ignores them) and carrying him to the bedroom.

He throws Kyung down onto the bed and crawls on top of him, laying down so their bodies are pressed up against each other. Fresh from the shower, Kyung is hot and slick and when he circles his arms around Jiho’s neck he growls a little possessively, this much skin contact heady as always. He kisses Kyung, deep and passionately, his hand brushing along Kyung’s jaw to tug at his hair gently, to say _I want you_ in the simplest, most primal way. He loves the way Kyung arches up underneath him, so responsive to his touch; they both know how to make each other come undone, now, and both of them love doing it to each other.

“Want you,” he breathes, kissing his way down Kyung’s jaw to nip at his neck, to the spot beneath Kyung’s ear that makes him go limp.

//

The retort he has dies on his lips the moment Jiho kisses the back of his ear, and all he can do is arch up as he moans, bones turning straight away into liquid. “Fuck,” Kyung mumbles against Jiho’s hair, arm curling around Jiho’s back to clutch at his shoulders. The cool air-conditioning of the room makes his skin feel even more sensitive than it already is. The way Jiho kisses him makes him buck up futilely; Jiho’s going slow, for once, none of that rush or urgency, that pounding _now now now now_.

So Kyung reciprocates that in kind, drawing his legs around Jiho’s waist to pull them flush as he presses open mouthed kisses against the line of Jiho’s neck, against healing bruises and against inked skin over his collarbone. Where they had bared teeth to mark their possessiveness, before, Kyung’s gentle now, moving along each square of skin as he slides his palms down Jiho’s back to grip onto his ass, grinding his hips down against Kyung’s own.

“All yours,” Kyung mumbles back, mouth falling open with a gasp at the frisson of pleasure the friction sends up his spine. He does it again and again and again, until they’re moving against each other in unison. “Always have been.”

//

“Mine,” Jiho gasps as he ruts against Kyung, the slow burn of this making him feel drunk. “Forever.”

With that, he starts kissing his way ever-so-slowly down Kyung’s neck, down his chest, past his nipples and around his belly button. Kyung catches on to what’s happening and props himself up on his elbows just in time for Jiho to lick up the length of his cock teasingly, smirking as Kyung’s eyes go wide – and then he takes Kyung’s cock in his mouth, his tongue swirling patterns, closing his eyes and moving his head slowly back and forth, feeling Kyung’s hand come down to curl in his hair. He’s wanted to do this for a while, but things always moved too fast, usually – but not today, and he relishes the fact that he can make Kyung squirm and moan.

//

It’s been a while since Kyung’d had his dick sucked. And when he props himself up on his elbows to watch—Jiho’s plush lips wrap around his cock, cheeks hollowed out, his eyes closed for that one moment—he’s reminded of exactly _how long_ and his hand flies down to grip Jiho’s hair. Not tugging, not pulling, just flattening himself against the bed, head tipped back as he moans shamelessly, letting Jiho set his own pace at first, even if it is frustratingly and teasingly slow.

“Shit, Jiho,” he eventually whines, hips bucking up automatically. “Fuck, come _on_.” His voice comes out desperate, but he honestly can’t care less at the moment, especially not when Jiho seems hell bent on drawing this out as long as possible, and possibly drive Kyung mad in the process.

//

“No,” Jiho replies stubbornly, pulling back with a wet _pop_ for a moment and just using his hand, already slick with saliva. “I love watching you like this.”

Slowly, _teasingly_ , he licks a line up the length of Kyung’s cock, flattening his tongue against his slit before taking the entirety of him into his mouth again. He takes pity on Kyung (the breathy _please_ s he’s repeating over and over persuade him somewhat) and speeds up a bit, closing his eyes as Kyung thrusts up into his mouth over and over again, like he can’t control himself. Hamming it up deliberately, Jiho moans as well, the vibration adding another sensation that has Kyung bucking his hips on the bed, his fingers clenching into the sheets.

//

“Fuck, Jiho, your fucking _mouth_ ,” Kyung moans, feeling himself unravel all too easily. From there, the words come spilling easily, intermingling with his groans as he drags his nails down Jiho’s scalp in frustration. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse when he glances down to look at Jiho, and he’s wearing the most wanton expression Kyung’d ever seen—moaning with his eyes closed as he sucks Kyung’s dick. His stomach tenses and he thinks he’s going to lose it just right there, but all that comes spilling out is a, “Jiho— please, you look so good. I’m gonna—yeah, just like that, _please_ —”

And then he’s thrusting up into the hot pressure of Jiho’s mouth, eyes squeezing shut because if he looks any more, he’s really going to come on the spot. But Jiho holds his hips down and keeps _humming_ like he has all day to do this. Which, he does, but Kyung wants to get off, and if he doesn’t come soon, he can’t be responsible for the shit he’s going to say next.

//

Jiho’s very tempted to continue like this – they’ve got all day, and he could bring Kyung to the brink over and over again if he wanted to – but he takes pity, and the hand that was restraining Kyung’s hips loosening. He pulls back for just a second to lick slowly up Kyung’s cock, grinning evilly, to whisper, “come _on_ , Kyung,” before starting to suck again, actually speeding up and letting Kyung fuck his mouth over and over.

It’s been years since he did this, but if he had to sink to his knees for anyone it’d be Kyung, especially because Kyung’s moaning his name, pushing his head down like he can’t get enough of Jiho, and it’s so erotic that Jiho closes his eyes, letting himself be used.

//

Kyung has to laugh at the look on Jiho’s face when he eggs him on, but even that sounds more like a broken moan than anything else. As Jiho picks up his speed, all Kyung can do is clutch on tightly to Jiho’s hair, his other hand fisted in the bedsheets like his life depended on it. And then his spine curves up into the air and he chokes out half a, “I’m gonna com—” before he _does_ , tugging futilely at Jiho’s head as if attempting to pull him away.

Then he’s pressed flat against the bed, breathless, unseeing for the moment, thighs flexing a little in protest when Jiho doesn’t immediately stop touching him when he’s so sensitive. “Fuck,” he groans, pulling Jiho up by his hair. He wants to kiss him, wants to do _something_ to tell him that Kyung’s pretty much besotted with him, that he’s never felt this way about anyone else before and that’s not only because of the orgasm. But his words escape him and all he can do is gape up at Jiho with glazed, adoring eyes, adam’s apple working as he pants.

//

Jiho swallows and heaves himself up to look down at Kyung, who looks thoroughly debauched – his eyes wide, his lips red from his constant biting of them, and his hair wet and mussed, and Jiho leans down to kiss him slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as Kyung’s hand moves down to caress his cheek. “God, I love you,” he breathes onto Kyung’s lips. “I love seeing you like this.”

And he does – Kyung when he’s just had an orgasm is one of the most beautiful things Jiho has ever seen, and he can’t stop himself from leaning down and kissing Kyung some more, smiling happily against his lips. It’s like this beach house is a bubble, isolated from the rest of the world – nothing can hurt them, nothing’s coming for them. He’s not Woo Jiho, contract killer, and Kyung’s not Park Kyung, math student; they are just _themselves,_ without labels, and it’s oddly freeing and exhilarating.

//

“That’s my line,” Kyung complains without any heat whatsoever. Instead he sounds relaxed and buoyant as he lazily reciprocates Jiho’s kisses, stroking Jiho’s back just to feel his muscles shift under Kyung’s palm. If Kyung woke up the next day in his own bed in his dorm with nothing to show that Woo Jiho exists—and this is the hard part, letting go of this mirage, especially when Jiho pulls back and grins at him, face framed by his hair, like he’s the only person in the world—then Kyung might believe it. For all the things that he’d seen, the things he wishes he hadn’t done, and the things he can never take back, Jiho’s presence right here and now feels like a benediction, the counter-balance the weight of everything else.

“I love you too,” Kyung says, just as he wraps his legs around Jiho’s waist to flip them both around. Not an easy feat at all, considering he’s trying not to jostle Jiho’s ribs. From this vantage point, he can press a hand to Jiho’s heart as he slowly trails kisses down chest as if trying to negate all of Jiho’s injuries. And maybe if he wills it hard enough, Jiho’s past will stop chasing after them both. “Wanna guess how much?”

//

 _Enough to kill for me_ , Jiho thinks. _Enough to take another man’s life to save me_. But he doesn’t say that out loud, because he doesn’t want to remind Kyung of what he did, knowing it already shadows him. So he brushes Kyung’s hair off his face from where he’s kissing his way down his chest and smiles. “To the stars and back?”

It’s cheesy, and he knows it is, especially by the way Kyung looks up and shoots daggers at him, making him laugh. If they’re having this competition, though, Jiho suspects there aren’t enough words in the universe to describe the love that confounds him so much, so he just pulls Kyung’s hair gently and grins down at him.

//

“ _That_ little?” Kyung asks, trying to sound affronted even as Jiho’s playing with his hair, which makes him feel stupidly weak at the knees. He uses the hand he has on Jiho’s chest to push himself upright as he shoots Jiho a questioning, challenging look.

It’s a childish question—the sort he’d swap with his exes in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, when everything was light and airy and you were floating along on the feeling of undeniable attraction. But they’ve done this entire relationship backwards, now; walked through hell first for each other first, then tip-toed around the subject of even _liking_ each other.

But it’s worth pushing ahead with the facetious questions, if only he can incite that kind of laugh from Jiho—and it’s only a recent development that he doesn’t immediately gasp in pain—if he can leave that smile on Jiho’s face for just a second longer. So he drags his free hand down the Jiho’s torso and catches hold of his still hard cock, running his thumb up and down his length, grinning up at Jiho as he says, “C’mon, try again.”

//

It’s _really_ hard to focus on words that aren’t some combination of _fuck, Kyung,_ or _God_ when Kyung’s _touching_ him like that, so he gasps and swallows and flounders around for the first thing that comes to mind. “Um, to the ends of the universe?” He looks at Kyung, who simply raises an eyebrow at him. “And back?” he adds rather weakly, his hand tightening in Kyung’s hair inadvertently. Kyung doesn’t say anything, just continues _teasing_ him, so he gulps. “Er, ‘til the end of time? Both?”

//

“Both sound good,” Kyung says acquiesces laughingly, deciding to take pity on Jiho as he rolls over onto the bed, so he’s looking at Jiho with his head propped on his arm, his chest pressed flush against Jiho. From here, he catalogue every single one of Jiho’s expressions as Kyung jerks him off almost lazily: the way his eyebrows draw together at first when Kyung flicks his wrist _just so_ , and the way he keeps his eyes fixed on Kyung’s, even as he cusses and urges Kyung to hurry up.

When he thinks _mine_ , this time, it isn’t with that fierce sense of possessiveness any more, of wanting to _own_ Jiho; instead, it’s an overwhelming sense of affection, of love, of knowing that he has this in the palm of his hands, that come what may, he’s going to do everything to defend it. So Kyung ends up pressing gentle kisses to Jiho’s shoulder, all the way up to his jaw, leaving low _I love you_ s and _you look so good_ and _I want you_ s in his wake.

//

With Kyung touching him like this, whispering things to him like this, he knows he isn’t going to last long – not after the buildup. So he thrusts into Kyung’s hand somewhat helplessly, whimpers escaping his lips as he reaches for Kyung, reaches to pull him close and kiss him. He’s regretting every minute he teased Kyung before, now, because Kyung’s repaying him in kind, with long slow strokes that feel so damn good but don’t serve to scratch the itch he feels. So, somewhat evilly, he noses into Kyung’s hair and nips his earlobe. “Kyung, please,” he breathes, and then bites just below his ear, feeling Kyung tense. “Come on.”

Even when Kyung’s the one jerking him off, Jiho’s still got control, still knows what to do to make him go weak – and he fucking loves it, so he’s grinning when he pulls back to kiss Kyung again.

//

“Asshole,“ Kyung gasps between kisses, feeling the goosebumps literally rise up his skin, the frisson of pleasure going straight to his dick despite his earlier orgasm. He knows that Jiho knows, and Jiho knows that _he_ knows, so this isn’t panning out the way Kyung wanted to—Jiho falling apart at Kyung’s fingertips.

He rolls over then, just a little bit more over, until he’s half lying atop Jiho—the good side, thankfully—and picks up his pace with a smirk, wrist making sharp, jerky motions as he watches Jiho. Even without his already leaking cock, Kyung can tell that Jiho’s close. His hips stutter up to meet each one of Kyung’s strokes, setting up a short rhythm between them both. It’s easy to draw out the sounds of his name from Jiho’s lips, like he can’t help himself but cling onto Kyung. _God, I love you_ , Kyung thinks, pressing biting kisses all the way down the column of Jiho’s throat, closing his mouth around one of Jiho’s nipples, teeth sinking in briefly, then kissing it before moving his way downwards.

//

When Kyung picks up the pace, Jiho gasps and whines, and when his teeth close around Jiho’s nipple he moans long and loud, thrusting up into Kyung’s hand helplessly. He’s so close, _so_ close, that all it takes is for Kyung to bite him again, on his ribs, and he’s gone. He fucks Kyung’s hand with vigour as he comes, almost violently, hips bucking as Kyung looks up at him and smirks, just watching as his name tumbles from Jiho’s lips over and over again.

Jiho pulls Kyung back up to kiss him again, this kiss chaste and small and sweet, before tugging Kyung down so he’s lying on top of him, warm and solid and smelling like soap from the shower. He buries his head in the crook of Kyung’s neck and shuts his eyes, coming down from his orgasm, feeling suddenly very tired and old.

“I love you,” he sighs into Kyung’s skin. “Always will.”

//

All Kyung does for those first few minutes is hold Jiho, carding his clean hand through his long hair. For the first time in a long time, it feels like they’re both trying to catch their breaths after sprinting from the starting line, although Kyung doesn’t know where the starting line is, either. He doesn’t know what the place will hold for them, but he knows what he’s going to walk away with. He’s sure of it.

They order room service after, with Kyung grinning and tipping the server that comes up and Jiho standing slightly behind him in the doorway, looking every bit like a killing machine even with his shirt off and his arms crossed around himself. Kyung rolls his eyes—not because he doesn’t trust Jiho’s instincts, but he refuses to let everyone become a threat. There’s no way a pimply boy of sixteen can be anything but their server, anyway, but Jiho huffs and begs to differ.

It feels strange to blink awake to see Jiho asleep with his cheek smushed against Kyung’s shoulder, his face bathed in the late morning sunlight. The motel had been encased in the same darkness that followed them around, the furniture casting dim shadows all around Kyung, no matter what time of the day it was. So this is… different. Kyung feels like he can breathe again, although that takes a short intermission when Jiho wakes up and Kyung sinks down to his knees.

It’s late afternoon by the time they decide to go off to the nearest town to buy some food, mainly because Jiho doesn’t trust that room service won’t try to poison them. Kyung complies, easily, deciding that it’s easier to pick his battles and this is something he has no knowledge of. So they both get dressed in reasonably clean clothes and head down to the lobby, filled to the brim with harmless looking tourists and natives alike.

“Wait five minutes then go meet me out front,” Kyung says, when his eyes catch a sign hanging by one of the counters advertising different tourist destinations. Jiho shoots him a perplexed look, but Kyung takes flight before he can ask.

It takes him precisely five minutes to negotiate with the middle-aged lady behind the counter to rent him a scooter without a) a driver’s license and b) an ID of any kind, really. But he’s glad to see that he hasn’t lost his touch when she hands him over the keys to the most luridly coloured scooter he can see from the line-up, complete with an idyllic basket on the front. He’s done this a few times before, back when Taeil had a scooter instead of a bike, and it’s significantly less difficult to navigate considering that its purpose was for tourists to sight-see in the country.

Plus, it’s worth it for the look on Jiho’s face when Kyung—bright blue helmet and all—waves him over to get on.

//

Within six minutes, Kyung has talked Jiho into climbing onto the back of the shitty little scooter, jamming the fluro pink helmet on his head and wrapping his arms around Kyung’s waist, holding on like he’s going to fly off the back of it _(‘you’ll drive that mental car but you won’t hop on a scooter?’_ Kyung had teased, to which Jiho had pointed out his car had airbags and a roof and seat belts) as they wobble perilously along the road to the nearest town. Kyung, for what it’s worth, has the time of his life, revving the crap out of the little engine, taking turns faster than he probably should, making Jiho pale and cling onto the back of him like a limpet, his gun digging into his ribs.

When they finally arrive, Jiho stumbles off the thing, wrenching off the helmet to thrust it at Kyung, shaking his head. “You know, if I ever thought of letting you get behind the wheel of my car, that drive has just nixed your chances.”

Kyung just laughs, and Jiho presses a brief kiss to his lips before stretching out his legs and casting a cursory glance around, drawing his jacket around him. He doesn’t think the Organisation is here – how could they be? – but still he looks, not seeing anything out of the ordinary and letting his guard down slightly, linking hands with Kyung and tugging him towards the supermarket.

**

It’s probably the biggest chance M has ever taken, coming out here to this middling little seaside town – but then, his instincts had told him Z will be here, and when have his instincts ever been wrong before? It’s a kind of morbid curiosity, really, because the stories of what Z had done had ricocheted through them like a shockwave. Leaving that many dead agents in his wake… Well, M’s always known Z was special, but to do _that?_ That is on a whole new level. What makes it all the more odd was that he would never have picked Z to go rogue out of all of them – he was too loyal, played things a little too safe, came when he was called like a good pet. Which is kind of what endears him to M, honestly; always so eager to please.

And when the news had come filtering down the grapevine that the Organisation was about to collapse from the inside, he’d grabbed his shit and fled Seoul with the rest of them, scattering across the country in a desperate bid to free themselves. It had worked, sort of; the confirmation had come through a week later. He was out of a job, but safe.

So he’d come here, following Z’s trail of bloody corpses across the country, fueled by a niggling little voice in the back of his head that wants to see what kind of state he’s in (considering the last time they met he was a drunken snivelling mess). The town is dead – it’s so close to winter that there’s no tourists, just the residents left – but it’s entertaining enough, and M usually parks himself in the one bar of a nighttime and watches everyone silently. He hadn’t found cause to kill anyone and, as such, is getting sick and tired of _waiting_ with nothing to do. It’s how he finds himself walking along the beach one mid-morning, barefoot and armed to the teeth, and it’s also how he sees a bright green scooter zoom along the main street, pulling up in the parking lot next to the supermarket. It’s _also_ how he sees Z clamber off the back of the scooter and kiss the man driving it (the same man from the dumpling place), and he raises an eyebrow, his fingers automatically going for the knife strapped around his thigh. His instincts were right after all.

Everything clicks into place, then, as he watches them hold hands and head into the supermarket together. Well, damn. He didn’t fucking expect that. Z got himself a goddamn boyfriend. And it’s not jealousy he feels, it’s more a sort of… faint bewilderment, because he’d been in love once and it had just been a shitshow of tears and blood and snot and had ended up with a knife in someone’s head – so he’d tried to stay away after that. He didn’t think Z of all people, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, would be the one to fall so far from grace. He’d suspected, that day in the dumpling place, of course, but then he’d been a snivelling mess after the breakup, so he hadn’t thought that they would get back together. What an interesting development.

So, because he’s got a morbid fascination, he starts walking towards the supermarket, determined to follow them. He parks himself on a bench across the road, half-hidden behind a car and far enough out of view that Z won’t notice him, especially as he slips his sunglasses on, and waits. Not long after, they come out of the supermarket and, after dumping their stuff in the basket on the front of the lurid scooter (snippets of their conversation float down to them, carried on the breeze; _‘we can’t leave it here! Someone will steal it…’ ‘...is dead, anyway, no one’s around, relax’)_ before heading down the street towards the ice cream shop, Z complaining that it’s too cold for ice cream and the smaller man tugging him along relentlessly. It’s here that M gets up and walks to his car, parked not a block away, and moves it closer, slumping down in the front seat and waiting, waiting, waiting for them to leave so he can follow them back to wherever they’ve come from, because damn it, he wants answers.

//

“See, it wasn’t that bad, right?” Kyung asks when he comes to a halting stop at the lobby. He’d made sure not to go to fast this time around—the irony that Jiho’s more terrified of him driving on a godamn green scooter than he is of breaking every traffic law on the road in his own car isn’t lost on him—but still Jiho looks nonplussed and disbelieving. Granted, they _had_ wobbled a little too dangerously at one of the turns, when Kyung’d driven over some roadside litter. But they’re fine and in one piece, now, and that’s what matters most.

This was the best day Kyung’d had in a while, and he feels like a civilian part of a regular society again. He’d watched Jiho pick up a baby’s rattle and hand it back to him with the kind of apprehension he supposed someone else dealing with a bomb would. And in turn, Jiho had watched him flirt with every single person—regardless of age, gender, or interest in conversation—in that grocery store, rolling his eyes every time Kyung’d introduced him as his _boyfriend_. The ice-cream they had after stayed sticky and sweet on Jiho’s tongue when they’d pressed up against the back of the store, making out like their lives depended on it.

The sun had set by the time they left, and between the both of them, they manage to get the grocery bags up to their floor, and it’s not until they’re trying to get into their room that Kyung remembers that he has to return the scooter.

“Five minutes,” Kyung tells Jiho, kissing him quickly as he holds the door open for Jiho. “I promised her I’ll get it back before eight pm.” And then he’s half-jogging back downstairs again, wearing the dopiest grin on his face as he swings the keyring around on his finger, the ridiculous fuzzy ball attached to it whirling into a pink wheel in the air. It’s not until it’s too late that he knocks into the man focused on his phone.

“Shit— sorry,” Kyung says, making a wild lunge for his keys only for the man to catch it, deftly and expertly, wearing an amused grin on his face. He looks familiar, somehow, like someone that Kyung’d once sat in a class with or— no, he looks older than Kyung’s classmates, more well put together, composed. A businessman, probably. “You okay?”

//

M can tell instantly that this man – _Kyung_ , he’d overheard Z call him – doesn’t remember him from that day in the dumpling restaurant, and that piques his interest. What shit have they been through together that the incident there was not worth remembering? But he just smiles smoothly and hands the keys back to Kyung, making sure their fingers brush. “Not the first time I’ve been assaulted by a fluffy pink keyring,” he replies, slipping his phone into his pocket. “It happens.”

“Right,” Kyung replies. “Sorry again.”

M just nods and winks at him before turning away, heading towards the elevators. He’d managed to procure a room relatively easily due to the fact it was off-season, and had just been heading there when Kyung had bumped into him. He can see what Z sees in him, now – he’s gorgeous up close, with wide eyes and lips that look like they’re made to sin. He hums to himself as he enters the elevator, pressing the button for his floor and smiling to himself. Yes, he’s quite interested to see how this will turn out.

//

Kyung returns to find Jiho in nothing but his pants, sprawled across the sheets like a starfish with his eyes closed. He cracks one open when he sees Kyung, and the grin that lights up his face makes Kyung feel like his insides had been doused by warm liquid.

“Is that atrocity gone?” Jiho asked, his voice lazy and low as he watches as Kyung strips down and washes up, returning to the bed with a bunch of snacks in his arms. The television’s tuned to some sort of documentary channel, because it turned out that Jiho liked stuff like that, who knew? But it buzzes quietly in the background as Kyung settles in next to Jiho. They gravitate towards each other immediately, fitting easily like a puzzle taken apart and pieced together many, many times.

“She convinced me to borrow it for the rest of my stay,” Kyung announces loudly, laughing at Jiho’s expression, and then shutting up entirely when Jiho kisses him. He falls asleep, eventually, with a chip still half-chewed in his mouth, with his head pillowed on Jiho’s shoulder, the TV still blaring quietly in front of them both.

(He blinks and the darkness washes away from a moment, turns into the startling brightness of a musty living room. There’s a rising panic in his chest and he knows, he _knows_ that if he doesn’t do this, he’s going to lose the game. But he’s paralyzed with fear, and the faceless man moves first, planting the dagger that was supposed to be Kyung’s in the epicentre of his chest and drags the blade _down_ —Kyung bolts upright in the middle of the night, nails digging dark-red crescents into his flesh, trying to grasp onto a knife that isn’t there. He’s sweating, panting, trying to shed the slippery murkiness of his nightmare, and it’s not until Jiho mumbles a _whazzwrong_ that Kyung shakes his head and tries to go back to sleep. When he wakes up in the morning, the marks are still on his palm, but he has no recollection how they got there.)

//

The peace and safety of this sleepy little seaside town is intoxicating, and although they’d only planned to stay a few days, Jiho finds himself getting complacent – so much so that when he wakes the next morning, he goes down to reception and extends their stay for another three nights. He justifies it to himself by saying he’s still healing – and a week on, his ribs are getting better, although he still finds it hard to function without painkillers, and he still limps a bit. The bruises, now, have faded to a pale yellow rather than ugly inkblots, and it’s easier to look at himself in the mirror now.

They spend the morning in bed fucking each other senseless until it’s past lunchtime and they’re spent and sweaty and exhausted, and when Jiho rolls over to see Kyung watching him he realises he’s never felt this peaceful, not ever. Not once in his entire life has there been this moment of complete serenity, and he’d kill to keep it. So he grins at Kyung as he plants a kiss on his forehead, thinking that things can only go up from here. “What should we do for dinner tonight?” he asks, bumping noses. “I could cook…”

//

Kyung snorts, at first, but then slowly warms to the idea, curving his palm over the back of Jiho’s neck as he nods contemplatively. “Alright,” Kyung says, amused and affectionate, rubbing Jiho’s back slowly. He doesn’t want to move from this spot for a long time coming, or at least, not from this beach house. It’s like they’d cross over some line on the drive here: right past hell and straight into heaven. “Tell me your repertoire, Chef Woo.”

And then he’s rolling over to the other side of the bed, snatching up the menu that had laid largely forgotten since the first time they’d ordered room service. He flips open the first page—there’re only two sides, really—and runs his finger down the page as he settles back down against Jiho, humming thoughtfully. “Can you make me a…” Kyung squints, fully aware that even he can’t read the English on some of this. “… Wild Fijian albacore sashimi with pea tendril salad and melon cilantro vinaigrette?”

//

“Give me that,” Jiho scoffs, wrenching the menu from Kyung’s hands. “You’re making that shit up. Those words aren’t even…. Oh.” He squints at the menu – his English is pretty good because they’d trained them all in it, but this is beyond even him. “You’re serious.”

He stretches out on the bed and flings a hand over his eyes dramatically. “Alright. Scratch that idea. We could go out? My treat.”

//

Kyung raises his eyebrows at Jiho’s suggestion. For a moment, he thinks he’d actually broken him, because Jiho’s always careful, always meticulous. Even when they were riding on that shitty green scooter, Kyung could feel Jiho’s gun pressed to the flat of his back, so this was unexpected and had him rolling over to pry Jiho’s hand off of his face, filling his vision with Kyung’s excited grin.

“Really? We’re going out to dinner? Like an actual dinner? Not room service?” Kyung asks, and he knows he sounds a bit like an over-eager child at Christmas, but it’s been _so long_ since he’d gotten the chance to do something like this that it almost feels novel, like he’s doing it for the very first time. “Because I saw a couple of seafood places by the beach, or the restaurant downstairs— or the fast food joint behind the boat shack, I’m good with that too.”

//

“You make me sound like I’m a dungeon-keeper,” Jiho moans, but he grins at Kyung and kisses him quickly. “But yeah, let’s go out. We’ll get champagne and everything.”

He watches amusedly as Kyung leaps off the bed to get dressed properly, rushing from their bags to the bed, chatting wildly all the while. After a while Jiho follows him, hauling himself off the bed to reach for an oxycontin before suiting up slowly, pulling his holster over his head and throwing his leather jacket over the top. Kyung pulls a face at that, but old habits die hard, and having his gun on him is just comforting in a way Kyung won’t ever understand. In addition, he slips a small dagger into his boot, before grabbing his wallet and reaching for Kyung’s hand as they leave the room.

When he gets down to the lobby he heads straight for the concierge, finding that there’s a sole French restaurant a few minutes away on the beachfront, so he gets the address. He’s just thanking the concierge for his help, smiling widely, when out of the corner of his eye he thinks he sees a figure in black rounding the corner – but he looks up and there’s no one there except Kyung and an old couple arguing over something or other. His hackles rise, but he tamps them down as he walks back to Kyung and tells him about the French place, smiling as Kyung’s eyes widen.

**

M does what he does best – he watches, and he follows. It comes easy to him; it always has, and it’s why he’s so damn good at this job. Or was, he muses as he ducks out of view of Z, since he’s now technically unemployed. Still, Z hasn’t gotten _entirely_ soft, because M can see, with his trained eyes, the lump of a pistol under his arm, and knowing Z he’s got knives hidden away too, probably. M also spies that Z is walking with a limp and he seems _stiff_ , and he realises that he mustn’t have gotten off entirely scott-free in his last encounter with their former employers.

He waits for a minute before heading out of the hotel behind them, keeping to the shadows, ducking behind parked cars and around the corners of buildings whenever Z might look like he’s going to look back over his shoulder and sees him. M doesn’t know where they’re going, but judging by the way Kyung is chatting animatedly away, it’s pleasure, not business. That intrigues him, as does everything Z does; he creeps forward, reassured by the weight of his pistols underneath his arms, following them silently.


	17. Chapter 17

There’s something off about Jiho—it’s the way he whirls around, body tensed, as though he expects something to be lurking around the corner. But he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it when he approaches Kyung, so Kyung lets it go, figuring that if Jiho thinks it’s fine, then Kyung can go along. Besides, they were literally at the edge of the country, living their lives out amongst tourists—who’s going to find them?

“Nervous?” Kyung teases Jiho, jigging his arm as they approach the steps of the restaurant. Kyung is, for some reason, as though this was his first date all over again, as though they hadn’t spent that morning fucking each other until they were, essentially, glued to each other with sweat and come.

It’s obvious that the place is the ultimate tourist trap, with its soft lighting and furniture that seemed to exclusively be made of either dark wood or red velvet. The guy at the door shows them to their seat—Jiho rejects the first window seat, so they get to sit next to the bar—and does the usual drill of recommending wines and their course of the day. Kyung thanks him politely but, out of habit, ends up ordering the cheapest thing on the menu.

Jiho doesn’t fail on the champagne front, though, so by the time they’re several glasses in, Jiho looks more or less unphased while Kyung’s shamelessly playing footsie with him under the table.

“Let’s dance,” Kyung eggs him on, when they’re finishing their main course. Jiho looks the most relaxed Kyung’d ever seen him, his eyes permanently turned up into crescents, especially when Kyung insists on feeding him. There’s a man playing the same few chords on a violin the far corner of the room, and its at him that Kyung nods when he reaches over to take Jiho’s hand, aware that this isn’t technically the right setting to suddenly break out some slow dancing, but Kyung honestly can’t find it in himself to care. He wants Jiho to press up against him, wants to close his eyes and drink in only him. (He realizes that this is the closest to the aquarium he’ll ever get again, and so he wants to close his fist over it and never let go.) “C’mon, I’ll lead.”

//

Jiho hasn’t danced – well, in years, if ever. But the champagne has made him complacent enough to let Kyung drag him off his chair and into the middle of the restaurant, the one place where there aren’t any tables. The violin player gives them a weird look as Kyung clasps one of Jiho’s hands in his own and slides the other around to settle on his waist; going off what he’s seen in movies, Jiho rests his other hand on Kyung’s shoulder somewhat awkwardly, smiling down at him. “I’ve never done this before. Can you tell?” As if to punctuate his sentence, he accidentally steps on Kyung’s foot.

**

They end up at the sole French restaurant in the damn town, and M watches from a distance as they go inside, before skulking around out the front and finally finding a bench across the road that gives him a good view of the side of Kyung’s head and not much else. It’ll do, however, and he’s interested to see that Z had rejected one of the empty window seats. No, he still hasn’t forgotten his training…

M retreats into his jacket and slumps down on the bench, loathing the biting-cold wind that nips at him. He doesn’t even know why he’s _here_ , really, apart from a fucked-up sense of curiosity and a niggling desire to get answers. He sort of gets it, though, now he’s seen Kyung up close; only sort of, however, because to M his job is his life and he’d thought it was the same for Z. Apparently not.

He watches amusedly as they eat and then sits bolt upright when Kyung drags Z into the middle of the damn place to start slow dancing with him. Z looks completely blissed out, even when he does something to make Kyung smack him playfully. M wonders how much they’ve had to drink, and wonders if this would be the time to make his grand entrance; but no, he stays on the bench, arms wrapped around himself, for a little bit longer yet.

//

Kyung's foot is _still throbbing_ but he soldiers on anyway. All his knowledge of slow-dancing had come from being paired together with old ladies during weddings and holiday functions. Which, yeah, they'd taught him a lot, but this feels a lot better when the person groping him isn't 80 with a divorce record longer than Kyung's arm. So he mumbles careful instructions into Jiho's ear—"It's not hard, we're not doing anything fancy. Just listen to the music and move along with me"—and soon they've set a slow rhythm to the slow, repetitive sounds of the violin. It doesn't matter, anyway, because Kyung spends the whole time with his eyes locked onto Jiho's.

They sway to the four-chord tune until the waiter interrupts them, apologetically, trying to avert their gaze as he asks them if they would like dessert and if they would consider not blocking the walkway. Kyung would like to apologize, but Jiho has a hand on the small of his back, and a grin like the one Kyung'd seen all those weeks ago in the laundromat and Kyung... Kyung feels like he's at the top of the world.

"I think you dislocated my toes," Kyung complains, just as they slide back into their seats (the waiter heaves a sigh of relief). "How are you going to take responsibility?" Jiho snorts, but leans across the table to kiss Kyung so gently that he feels breathlessly lightheaded, that even when Jiho leaves for the toilet, Kyung's still grinning dopily to himself.

He's still smiling when a stranger slides into Jiho's seat, and he's about to tell him that he's got the wrong table when the gears turn in Kyung's head and he exclaims, "You're the man from yesterday! Are you here alone? Uh, that seat's taken, I'm afraid."

//

Patience never was one of M’s strong suits, and he’s getting _bored_ – not just with these two, but with life in general. The one good thing about his job is it quelled his lust for blood; with it gone he’s starting to feel a little bit like an addict whose one source of pleasure has been taken away. So when Z gets up and goes to the bathroom, M waits until he disappears before making his move, walking into the place and sliding into the seat across from Kyung, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Pity. I was just getting comfortable.”

Kyung isn’t stupid, but he is drunk, so it takes longer for him to click that the stranger opposite him is wearing all black, and that when his jacket falls open there’s the tell-tale straps of his holsters criss-crossing his body. M sees the moment it all clicks in his head, and he goes from open to closed-off in an instant, getting to his feet slowly, fear wreathing him.

Over his shoulder, though, M sees Z leave the bathroom, shaking his hands to dry them – and their eyes lock, and M sees a shock run through Z, and he grins. Yes, this is the sort of excitement he was after.

**

Jiho doesn’t have time for fear, and he doesn’t have time for anger – all he has time for is to act, so he draws his gun and rushes towards M, who gets up from the table and meets him somewhere in the middle. They end up in each other’s faces, Jiho grabbing M by the collar of his shirt, their pistols pointing at each other’s hearts, Jiho staring into M’s amused face with a weighty, burning hatred he’s never felt before.

“Jiho,” Kyung pleads from over his shoulder, and he glances away for a second to see Kyung looking at him beseechingly. The violinist has stopped playing, all the other diners are staring at them, and the waiter has dropped a tray of drinks. He knows what Kyung’s saying, and he knows he’s being conspicuous right now – so he lets go of M, shoving him backwards several steps.

“Outside,” he hisses, grabbing Kyung by the wrist and pushing him along in front so that if M _does_ take a shot, it will hit Jiho instead. They exit into the frigid air of the autumn night, Jiho rounding the corner and waiting for M to follow him.

//

There’s a possibility that Kyung’s too drunk to feel fear—or that he’s surpassed fear entirely after the farmhouse and reached a level where he’s just _pissed_ now. He hadn’t expected their bubble of happiness to last forever, but he certainly hadn’t banked on it to pop right this second.

It’s apparent that Jiho has the same opinion, although there’s something strange between the two of them that Kyung can’t put a finger on because his mind still feels a little too fuzzy to concentrate. But Jiho’s grip on his wrist is tight and painfully grounding, and Kyung wants to ask _who_ this is and why Jiho hadn’t just knifed him the moment they came face-to-face (not that Kyung endorsed such violence; Jiho just had a tendency to knife first, ask questions later), but Jiho’s shoving his wallet at Kyung’s chest and saying, “Go in and pay. I’ll handle this.”

Kyung is about to protest, but the look that Jiho gives him then is so chilling that Kyung quells immediately, even if the stranger snorts aloud. The both of them turn to glare at him, and then Kyung’s walking back into the direction of the restaurant.

It had taken the way Jiho rushed up to him for Kyung to _remember_ that he’s seen this guy before. At the dumpling store, after church, when everything was still new and Kyung’d thought that he could’ve chased Jiho’s demons away. As it turns out, Jiho’s demons were now chasing after the both of them. There’s something niggling at the edge of his consciousness, something that Jiho’d mentioned about this guy that _bothers_ Kyung, but he can’t quite get a grasp on it.

Frustrated, he throws one last glance over his shoulder—they’re tense and standing so close to one another that, for one moment, it looks like they’re going to kiss—before he shoves the door open and walks back into the restaurant.

//

“How?” Jiho growls, grabbing M by the collar and getting in his face, mouth twisted into a snarl. “How’d you fucking find us?”

M just smirks in that stupid fucking haughty way he does, and Jiho very nearly stabs him right then and there. “You’re not inconspicuous, you know. You left a trail of bodies in your wake.”

Jiho lets go of M and takes a few steps backward, dragging his hand across his mouth, the anger chasing away the last of the alcohol, making him feel perfectly alert. “Why are you here, then? Is it your goal in life to antagonise me?”

“On the contrary, I come bearing good news.” M takes a step forward, spreading his palms out like a gesture of peace. “We’re both out of a job, brother. The Organisation has collapsed from the inside.” He grins wolfishly and nods back towards the entrance. “While you’ve been out here fucking your boy-toy and killing for him, the rest of us have been fleeing persecution.”

Jiho’s already tenuous hold on his anger snaps at that and he throws a punch at M, who dodges it neatly. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” Jiho gasps, staggering and whirling around to face M, rushing towards him again. “Not yours to talk about.”

**

Z’s ribs are hurting him more than he admits, M can tell, because he dodges Z’s next punch easily and grabs him by the wrist, spinning him around and pulling him close, looking into his eyes as he speaks. “Oh, but he’s so delicious…”

Z headbutts him, and he staggers backwards, rolling his neck and ripping off his jacket, putting his fists up in a boxer’s stance. “Now, Z, that’s not very polite,” he goads, circling Z, who’s panting with the angriest expression M’s ever seen on his face before. “It was a _compliment–”_ with this, he takes a step forward and jabs at Z’s injured ribs, landing the hit and watching Z stagger, “and I was being _polite–”_ he feigns a punch to the left and kicks Z in the stomach when he dodges to the right, “so stop being so rude.”

Z’s made of sturdier stuff than that, though, because he pulls his knife from his boot and grabs M by the neck, swinging him around and pressing him up against the wall of the restaurant, the knife pressing into his ribs painfully. “I said, don’t fucking talk about him,” Z breathes, slamming M back against the wall. “Do you fucking understand?”

“And do _you_ understand that I’m not here to kill either of you?” M murmurs, reaching up and curling a lock of Z’s hair around his finger, perfectly aware of how close they are and how hyped up they both are – both dangerous possibilities. “The black suits you, by the way.”

//

It’s when Kyung emerges to find them in a compromising position—and not of the blade-in-your-chest variety, but more of the hand-in-your-hair-about-to-suck-face type thing—that it all comes rushing back to him: the shitty, dusty kitchen, the thick tension between Jiho and him, still suspended between believing and disbelieving, and then… _we slept together twice_. All the feelings of possessiveness, of gnarling jealousy twists up in his chest once more, and his stomach folds over itself. The fizzy champagne was probably a bad idea, because it all feels like it’s going to bubble out of him now.

He’s not sure how to approach them— _should_ he approach them? Jiho had sent him back into the restaurant for a reason, after all. And although he’s looking at the guy like he could kill him in a heartbeat, he’d looked at Kyung that exact same way when he’d shot Kyung’s phone into pieces. The guy, for his part, looks perfectly fine with the way things are going. They looked like they have history—no, they _do_ have history, something that had transpired between them that incited this guy to come and look for them even when they’d tried so hard to run.

So where did this put Kyung?

“If you’re gonna turn each other into a bloody pulp,” Kyung says—okay, yeah, so maybe the champagne did help a little—as he approaches them, pocketing Jiho’s wallet, “maybe try doing it in a place where people can’t see you.”

//

“He isn’t worth that,” Jiho snarls, pushing M into the wall and stepping back, wrapping his arm around his ribs, which are hurting in a way he hasn’t felt for a few days, an acute pain stabbing through him. “But he did bring us news, worthless as he is.” Jiho spits at M’s feet and turns away to face Kyung, putting his knife away as he does so – he can read the uneasiness on Kyung’s face, and is unsure if it’s because it’s _M_ and he knows their history or because of the general violence.

“The Organisation is gone,” he whispers, reaching for Kyung’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Collapsed from the inside.”

**

“Yes, that’s right,” M adds to Kyung, coming up behind Z and slinging an arm over his shoulders casually. “Horrible internal affair. Very messy. This one’s –” he nods at Z “– string of dead agents probably didn’t help either. I came to give him the news. And you are? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” He gives Kyung an appreciative once-over, tilting his head towards Z like they’re old friends. “You’re a lucky man.”

Z makes a noise of disgust and tries to step away, but M’s hold is tighter than he’d anticipated, so they end up leaning away from each other like terrible Michael Jackson impersonators. Kyung raises an eyebrow and M swallows – he is extremely attractive, and if he plays his cards right… Well.

//

Kyung’s eyes tear away from M’s face to the way Jiho’s holding himself. They exchange a look as he squeezes Jiho’s hand questioningly, the _are you okay?_ coming across silently. He wants to tug Jiho over to his side because seeing the guy touch him makes something hot burn in Kyung’s gut, and it definitely isn’t indigestion from dinner. Kyung can’t even pause for a second to think about what Jiho’d just said, what M’d just _confirmed_ (and really, who the hell knows with these people and their house of dodgy murder cards?).

“I think you know who I am,” Kyung says, glancing over at the guy’s hand on Jiho’s shoulder, letting his displeasure telegraph a little too obviously on his face. “The question is: who are _you?_ ” Kyung can see why Jiho would be tempted to sleep with the guy—he’s all sleek lines and sharp smiles, like he knows something that you don’t about yourself. It’s the same shroud of mystery Jiho had cloaked himself in, at the beginning, only there was nothing soft about this man. Had this been another time or another place, Kyung could’ve easily been bought by that smile, played along with it until they were both done. But in there here and now? Kyung steps up a little closer and tries not to remind himself that he’s a) unarmed and b) had the self-defense skills of a tree as he adds, “I think you should let go of him.”

//

M just laughs and draws Z closer. “And why would I do that? He liked it the last time I touched him.”

He feels Z tense underneath his arm, and sees his head fall, unable to look Kyung in the eye – and that’s how he knows he’s won, or is winning this battle at least. Z doesn’t even bother to deny it. So just to hammer the point home, M grips Z’s chin in his hand and turns his head so they’re looking each other in the eyes; Z glances down at M’s lips, and M knows – he _knows_ that Z’s still weak for him. “Didn’t you?” he breathes, raising his chin slightly, waiting for the denial he know won’t come.

M looks away then, at Kyung, who’s looking between them with an unreadable expression on his face. His body language is still standoffish, affronted, so M quirks an eyebrow at him. “I bet you’d like it too, wouldn’t you?”

Z groans at that, but M doesn’t move, just keeps looking at Kyung, an unspoken challenge in his eyes. _Wanna try? Come on_.

//

It’s Jiho’s silence that makes Kyung’s hackles rise; it’s a silence that tells him that Jiho _agrees_ , that he isn’t even going to bother to deny it. It _stings_ , for some reason, and that feeling cuts through the alcoholic haze as Kyung drops Jiho’s hand to cross his arms, sizing the not-quite-stranger up properly. He’s probably not thinking straight, he _knows_ he’s not thinking straight, but his mouth moves faster than his mind when he says, “Let’s put that to the test.”

It makes something bitter rise up to his throat in the same way it did at the farmhouse, only this time, it’s coloured with an ugly jealousy that he didn’t even know he was capable of. _Huh_ , he thinks, even as the corner of his mouth tugs up into a sharp smirk and he absolutely does _not_ look in Jiho's direction. Then again, when it comes to Woo Jiho, when has precedence ever helped him?

//

M doesn’t let his surprise show – honestly, all thoughts of fucking one or both of them had been merely fantasies that he’d entertained, but he’s never been one to bluff and not be prepared to follow through – and instead grabs Kyung by the collar to pull him in for a kiss, letting go of Z to slide his other arm around Kyung’s waist. He pulls Kyung close so their bodies are flush, feeling some of Kyung’s recalcitrance melt away in the heat of their kiss, pulling back slightly to see Z watching them, complete unbridled lust written all over his face.

**

Jiho doesn’t want to find it hot – really, he doesn’t, he really really doesn’t – but somehow it _is_ , even if it ignites threads of jealousy in his gut. The way Kyung leans into M, the way M pulls him in – Christ, he can’t _stand_ it, he can’t stand watching it, ‘cause if he watches much longer he’s going to want to have sex right here in the open and he’s not _that_ insane.

So he just bites his lip and grabs both of their wrists, sort of amazed at how his life can take so many different turns so quickly; he feels like he’s got whiplash sometimes. He tugs, getting both of their attentions, and feels slightly faint under the weight of all that lust washing over him. Woah.

“Not here,” he manages to croak, hating himself for going along with this but not having the strength to stop it anyway. “Hotel.”

//

Kyung hadn’t expected him to react instantaneously. He wonders if this sort of recklessness is what had drawn the both of them towards the same calling, but that brief thought is dashed the second the guy tugs him flush against him and— _god_ , Kyung hasn’t kissed anyone that wasn’t Jiho in so long that the newness of this all sets his nerve-endings on fire. Or maybe that was the champagne talking. Whichever one it is, he’s about to slide a hand in his hair when Jiho tugs at both of them to get _going_. Kyung recognizes that look on Jiho’s face all too easily, and the blood rushes down from where it’d been sending his heart racing a mile a minute straight to his dick.

It doesn’t help that the guy’s smirking at him like he can’t wait to eat Kyung whole.

 _Fuck_ , Kyung thinks, as Jiho tugs relentlessly at them both. The air is cool but his cheeks are fucking _burning_ ; the jealousy earlier had tapered off into something more primal, more heated, more _needy_. Kyung would feel embarrassed if he hadn’t just experienced how much of a good kisser he was, and if he can do _that_ to Kyung just like that, then he can’t imagine what that mouth would feel like elsewhere.

Evidently, the first place that his mouth wanted to go was against Jiho’s, because the second the door shuts, they’re pressed up together before Kyung can even _process_ what’s happening.

//

Jiho had forgotten what it was like to kiss M, to kiss someone so different to Kyung, so when M whirls him up against the wall and kisses him unrelentingly he feels himself absolutely melting under his touch, stupidly and weakly. He remembers, however, as M’s hand curls in his hair that Kyung is still in the room and splays his hands on M’s chest and _shoves_ , sending him staggering back a few steps, ignoring his ribs protesting.

“Always a greedy motherfucker, weren’t you, M?” he rasps, his chest heaving.

**

“Yes,” M counters, advancing towards Z again and beckoning for Kyung to join him as he pushes Z’s jacket down his shoulders and off, reaching for his holster. “I would say it’s a weakness, but I’m infallible, so…”

Kyung steps up to help, pressing kisses all the way down Z’s jawline, his hands shoving up Z’s shirt to palm at his belly as M unbuckles his holster, the gun falling to the floor between them uselessly. He then kisses Z again, making him gasp and stutter, egged on by the both of them kissing him at the same time; even M will admit that it’s a pretty fucking good view, even from here. Pulling away from Z, he grabs Kyung’s chin and pulls _him_ in for a kiss, too, making Z groan into the open air of the hotel room.

This isn’t what he had in mind, but fuck, he couldn’t have pictured a better way for the night to be going.

//

It’s the dissociation between Jiho (hungry and desperate and so easily familiar) to M’s (dominant and consuming and so fucking eager for more) kiss that has Kyung reeling even as he tries to unbuckle Jiho’s pants. If you can even call it a kiss, considering that it’s more teeth than anything else. And then he has one hand curled around M’s belt, and the other pressed against Jiho’s chest as he backs them all towards the bed.

He breaks the kiss just so he can smirk as he eyes M and says, “Thought you wanted to impress me?” even as the fire sings through his veins. He can hear Jiho groan in the way that he knows that, had it only been the two of them, would’ve earned him a roll of his eyes. But it’s not, the air in the room is intoxicating and Kyung’s _already fucking drunk_.

It’s probably that that has Kyung relinquishing his grip on M’s pants as he adds, “This is how it’s done,” as patronisingly as possible, and then turns around and pushes Jiho onto the bed. It’s the element of surprise that has Jiho landing on his ass as Kyung slides onto his lap with his thighs bracketing Jiho’s hips. His eyes lock onto Jiho’s and suddenly, Kyung can’t _breathe_ , but then Jiho curls a hand around the back of his neck and drags him down for a kiss that has Kyung leaning in for more.

//

M just watches them as he rids himself of his jacket, holsters and shirt, admiring the way Kyung and Z lose themselves completely in each other, touching each other with a familiarity that makes his stomach curl a little bit. But he didn’t come here to be ignored, so he grabs Kyung by the hips and flips him over so he’s spreadeagled on the bed next to Z; he has to choose between them, but it’s a fairly obvious choice – winding Z up is so very easy, so he crawls on top of Kyung and bites his way up Kyung’s neck, arriving at his earlobe. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that it’s not you who does the fucking, is it?” he whispers, looking to the side slightly to see Z watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t,” Z warns, but M just winks at him before turning back to Kyung, reaching up to wind one hand in his hair, tugging sharply.

“Well... “ he begins, pushing up Kyung’s shirt to drag his nails down his belly. “I bet Z neglected to mention that’s not how it happened with me.”

**

“Prick,” Jiho growls, leaning over so he’s whispering directly into M’s ear, looking down at Kyung – who, for his part, is looking completely drowned in lust – as he speaks. “You’re a fucking prick, M.”

M just kisses Kyung hungrily, finding Jiho’s hand and running it down Kyung’s chest so they’re both reaching for his cock, making him buck and writhe on the bed underneath them – and God, Jiho is so turned on he feels like he’s going to explode, the undercurrent of jealousy just fueling everything.

//

Kyung has only the briefest moment to imagine Jiho fucked out and pliant under M before Jiho has got a grip on his dick and _god_ , next to Jiho himself, this has _got_ to be Kyung’s achilles heel. He arches up easily, automatically, but it’s M’s teeth sinking down on his lower lip that reminds him that this isn’t Jiho, so he slides his hand in M’s hair to tug his head back sharply, giving him enough room to glance over at Jiho. The twin feelings of lust and jealousy twist in him and he finds himself keeping his gaze locked onto Jiho as he addresses M with a taunting, breathless, “All talk and no show isn’t gonna do shit for you.”

He’s going to absolutely kick himself for challenging M like this, because if there’s one thing he’s learnt from their short exchange, it’s that the guy doesn’t fuck around. Still, Kyung’s coaxing Jiho’s leg over his torso, so he’s sitting atop Kyung’s waist as Kyung works on pushing down the rest of his pants, letting it pool around his thighs. It’s a sight he _wants_ to see, he realizes, the look on Jiho’s face as he’s getting fucked, because it’s one he’s never seen before, even if he’s not the one responsible for it.

//

M slides around so he’s sitting just behind Z, on Kyung’s lap, and reaches to pull Z’s shirt up and over his head – and he has his hand curling in Z’s long hair when Kyung’s hand closes around Z’s cock, so he _feels_ the visceral reaction as Z jerks forward helplessly. He files that away under things to know about Z and brushes his hair aside to kiss gently down his throat, before sinking his teeth in so sharply he draws blood, making Z gasp and moan as M grins down at Kyung, watching his eyes widen at the sight of it.

He reaches for the bottle of lube that’s on the bedside table, squirting some onto his fingers and then slipping one inside Z, relishing at the way he tilts his head back onto M’s shoulder, his eyes closed in bliss. He doesn’t quite know where to move – forward, fucking Kyung’s hand, or back, being fucked by M’s finger, so he just trembles, coming completely undone underneath their touches.

“What was that about all talk and no show?” M murmurs down to Kyung as he licks a line up Z’s neck, tasting blood, and slips another finger in.

**

The contrast of Kyung – familiar and intimate and _his_ – and M – rough and sharp and dominating – is as different as night and day and it has him completely torn between them. He gasps as M tears into his neck; he groans as Kyung flicks his wrist, unable to decide which to react to. In the end he gives up and just focuses on the pleasure ricocheting through him; he can’t even _think_ straight like this, he’s given his sense of self to the other two completely for them to do what they want with it, and he feels so helpless, loving every minute of it.

“Kyung,” he gasps, throwing his head back onto M’s shoulder, tilting his neck to expose his throat, an invitation. “God.”

//

Kyung doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the sight of this: Jiho, his head thrown back, his torso curved in a taut line, blood blooming like pinpricks, at first, then trailing down his neck only to have M lap it up like he can’t wait to make more. Even with his dick untouched, Kyung moans, picking up his pace as he jerks Jiho off. The heat of anger surges through him and he curls his hand around Jiho’s upper arm to tug him sharply down.

“Mine,” he murmurs just audible enough for Jiho to hear, teeth catching onto Jiho’s earlobe as he kisses his way down Jiho’s shoulder, disregarding the fact that Jiho’s sweat is starting to mix with his blood. “Only mine.”

He can feel M’s eyes fixed onto him and it makes his skin buzz electric. So he pushes himself up just slightly— _still_ careful not to jostle Jiho’s ribs too much—and reaches to grab M by the back of his neck, dragging him close so Kyung can kiss him, sensing more than seeing Jiho’s head turn to watch them both.

“Not. Good. Enough,” he says between kisses, nipping at M’s lips relentlessly, aware that there’s a possibility he’s walking a tightrope of danger, but unable to find it in himself to care anyway.

//

“Mmm,” M murmurs into Kyung’s mouth, pulling back slightly to rest their foreheads together, his fingers still working inside Z. “Is that true?”

He trails gentle, sweet kisses along Kyung’s jaw, mouthing his earlobe before nibbling gently at a spot just underneath his ear that has him groaning. He continues downward, his other hand stroking Kyung’s hair gently back from his face, his kisses drawing a line down Kyung’s throat to the hollow of his shoulder. “I think you shouldn’t be so fucking _insolent_ ,” he growls into Kyung’s skin, feeling the beating of his pulse, before yanking Kyung’s head back and biting down sharply, curling his fingers upwards inside Z at the same time so they both buck and whine as a result of him. He tastes the saltiness of Kyung’s blood and smirks as he sits back, the hand that was in Kyung’s hair raking lines down his chest.

**

“Leave him be,” Jiho groans, fully aware he’s putty in their hands and that now the both of them are bleeding as a result of M’s bites – which he’d expected, but Kyung hadn’t. “God, just fuck me already.”

He’s whining, but honestly between the two of them like this he feels like he’s slowly losing his sanity, it’s slipping through his fingers, being replaced by nothing but pleasure – he’s coming completely undone, and he can’t _stand_ it any longer, not when M’s fingering him and Kyung’s jerking him off.

//

“Fuck,” Kyung groans, his hand stuttering over Jiho’s dick when M’s teeth break his skin, leaving something hot trickling down the line of his neck, “ _fuck_.” The laughter that spills out of him then is short, incredulous, even as his adam’s apple bobs at the way Jiho’s breath ghosts over his ear, sounding needy, _wanting_. So Kyung drags his nails down from around M’s neck, over his torso, catching over his nipple on his way down, disregarding the way that his skin immediately blooms with pricks of blood, going straight for M’s pants.

He smirks when he finds that M’s cock is heavy and hard and he gives it a few rough tugs as he kisses his way from Jiho’s cheek to Jiho’s lips. He momentarily frees his hands to grapple for the condom in Jiho’s back pocket, tearing it open and reaching around Jiho to roll it over M’s dick. He’s operating on a frenzied, pulsing _lust_ , but he stops to press the back of his hand to Jiho’s cheek gently, because he’s never seen Jiho like this before and the shock to his system has him slowing down just the slightest. That has M snorting in amusement, so Kyung rolls the condom over his cock and digs his nail into the slit of M’s cock, drags the hard edge down his length as he positions M to Jiho’s ass.

//

M pushes into Z’s ass with no warning or fanfare because they’ve come this damn far now. Z is hot and warm and tight around him, everything he remembered, and he winds one hand in his hair to yank his head back, away from Kyung’s lips, making him arch back onto M’s cock as he begins thrusting. No matter how Z might pretend to be tough in front of Kyung, he’s still as much of a little bitch as he was the first time they did this, bloody and raw and in a strange hotel room, staining the wallpaper. He throws his head back and groans, drawing blood as he digs his nails into Z’s hips. “Still just a slut,” he huffs, closing his eyes. “Still the same, Z.”

He looks down at Kyung at that and winks, pleased that he’s giving Z something that Kyung can never give, something that was off-limits. And, god, this stupid fucking one upmanship is pressing his buttons in all the right ways, so he fucks Z harder, faster, wildly.

**

“Christ,” Jiho moans, opening his eyes to see Kyung looking up at him with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s one he’d try to decipher any other time but – but not now, not when he’d being fucked like this, not when Kyung’s still jerking him off at the same time, looking up at him like that.

He realises now that this – this is not something they’ve done before, Kyung’s never _seen_ him like this before, bent over for someone and being their bitch, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not because fuck. He can’t fucking think, not like this; every synapse in his brain is firing, and faintly he wonders how he got here, when this had all happened… But then M changes the angle of his thrusts and Jiho’s pretty sure his eyes roll out of his head, every thought he’d ever had going straight out the window as he moans long and loud.

//

He’s tempted to close his eyes and look away from the scene unfolding before him now. Jiho’s mouth hangs open and there’s a strange squeezing in his chest that’s neither jealousy nor lust. But Kyung _knows_ that the moment he does, M would’ve won this push and pull between all three of them, and there’s just a part of him that can’t fucking let this go.

“Do you talk a lot of shit to overcompensate?” Kyung asks, his tone saccharine sweet but dripping with condescension. He slides his hands down the line of Jiho’s back to grip his ass, spreading them just a little bit wider as he moves Jiho’s hips along even faster. It’s worth it, if only to hear the way Jiho completely dismantles in front of Kyung’s eyes, mouth hanging red and open and—

Kyung sucks in a deep breath, forgetting M for a moment just to take in how Jiho looks right now, debauched and needy and so obviously and helplessly out of his own control. It’s this that has him surging up to catch Jiho’s lips in his, kissing him again hungrily, desperately. And if it’s Jiho’s own blood that Kyung can taste in their kiss, then it’s that that causes him to snap his eyes shut, letting himself get lost in the moment.

//

M just laughs at that. He refuses to let Kyung get under his skin, because if he does, if Kyung _really_ starts irritating him – well, he’s never been a very patient person. So he laughs instead of wanting to kill him, knowing he’ll get his revenge when it’s Kyung’s turn. As it is, though, he fucks Jiho as harshly as he can, jostling Kyung beneath him as they kiss.

“I’d like to see you do this,” he points out somewhat breathlessly, because they both know it’s a fact that Kyung can’t fuck Z like this – never will be able to.

**

Jiho can feel his orgasm building – the pair of them together like this is just too much… But he also wants to draw it out, too, because he’s never had this before, and he moans into Kyung’s mouth, powerless to the both of them. Kyung knows it, too, Jiho can feel him smirking as he continues to jerk him off with a renewed vigour, matching M’s frenzied pace.

“God,” he breathes, opening his eyes to look at Kyung, his vision blurry. “Fuck, Kyung – christ.”

It’s all he can say, really, because heat is pooling in his belly, his thighs, and he has to screw his eyes shut again as he’s turned inside out, fucked, reduced to nothing between them.

//

The retort on Kyung’s lips dies a quick death the second Jiho moans his name, sounding thoroughly wrecked, in a way that Kyung has never heard before, and probably will never hear again. So he forgets M for a second, turns his focus onto Jiho as he digs his fingers into Jiho’s shoulder bracingly, thumb pressed against M’s fucking _bite mark_ as he tightens his grip on Jiho’s cock, twisting his wrist in the way he knows that has Jiho fucking his hand desperately.

“You look so hot like this, so _good_ ,” Kyung mumbles against the shell of Jiho’s ear, against the curve of his throat, against his breastbone. M catches his eye and the look he’s wearing is so fucking predatory that Kyung has to look away, focusing on the way Jiho stops trembling under him and tenses, instead, come spilling hot against the circle of Kyung’s fingers.

//

Jiho’s never had an orgasm like this in his entire fucking life – and fuck, he’s had a lot. Kyung’s soothing words ride him through, M’s fingers raking a trail down his back; it’s all he can do to mutter Kyung’s name helplessly, the only word his brain remembers how to form. And then he’s kissing Kyung desperately, hungrily, pulling back to pant heavily as M growls, a predatory, possessive sound that Jiho doesn’t like the sound of – but he’s in no position to do anything about it. Mainly because his brain has stopped working and he’s turned into a ball of jelly; the only thing keeping him from collapsing face-first onto Kyung is M’s hands on his hips, his thrusting reaching fever-pitch now.

**

M’s always had a tell that he was about to come – he starts to get unintelligible, which is what’s happening now. As Z tightens around him as he comes, it pushes M that much closer to the edge, making the words start to come _(fuck, fucking shit, Z, god)_ – and what tips him over is the sight of Kyung and Z panting onto each other desperately. He grips onto Z’s hips as he comes, thrusting over and over and over again as he curses at nothing, squeezing his eyes shut.

He immediately pulls away and flings the condom into the bin, letting go of Z’s hips, sending him collapsing onto Kyung, where the both of them lie. M joins them, flopping down onto the bed next to them, not touching, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal – because Kyung, with his filthy fucking mouth, has been asking for it, and M wants to shut him up. So he just breathes, feels himself come back to normal, ignoring the way he can see Kyung’s hands stroking Z’s back softly, sensually – ‘cause it just makes him roll his eyes.

//

Kyung’s not going to lie to himself—the duality of both Jiho _and_ M coming makes him feel like his skin is too fucking small and too hot for himself and if it weren’t for the fact that he can feel his neck throbbing from M’s bite, he’d have thought that he was experiencing a very vivid hallucination. With one last grunt, M lets go of Jiho who comes pitching forward onto Kyung, boneless and breathless, in a way that Kyung’s sure that he won’t even notice if M came creeping up with a gun behind him now. Kyung bites down on his lip, stroking slow circles over Jiho’s back, over sweaty skin and the raised bumps of the scratches M had left without any mercy.

“He’s right,” Kyung says, laughingly, because he still feels like he’s folded too tightly over, that something’s going to _explode_ if this is all that it was going to be, tonight. And as his fingers run over the literal gouge marks that M’d made onto Jiho’s hips— _mine_ , Kyung thinks, a little facetiously since M had proved otherwise, did he not? he’s always going to have a piece of Jiho that Kyung can’t have—he can’t help but say, “You _are_ a prick. Were you taught that at the organization too?”

//

Jiho’s utterly spent and exhausted, but his eyes snap open at Kyung’s words. “Don’t antagonise him, Kyung,” he breathes into Kyung’s neck, too low for M to hear. “He’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

M eats people like Kyung for breakfast, and Jiho senses that M isn’t done, either, and Jiho’d like to get out of this with as little bloodshed as possible – which isn’t going to happen if Kyung keeps mouthing off. But then M’s shoving him off Kyung perhaps a bit more violently than necessary, looming over Kyung and looking Jiho up and down with a smirk before leaning down to kiss Kyung hungrily, _fiercely_ , making something churn in Jiho’s gut.

**

“No,” M replies shortly, catching Kyung’s bottom lip in his teeth. “That, I’m afraid, has been inherent since birth.”

Kyung just looks at him, _challenging_ , and he snorts, amused. This one might even be more intriguing than Z, if such a thing was possible; he leans down and licks up the length of Kyung’s neck, over the wound he’d left that’s still open and up to his ear. “Go and stand up against the wall,” he breathes, and as he feels Kyung puff up underneath him to rebuke him he claps his hand over Kyung’s mouth and pulls back so he’s looking him in the eyes. “Do it, or I’ll put you there myself. And I really don’t want to do that.”

//

Without Jiho in between them, Kyung’s suddenly hyper aware of the different ways that M could seriously injure him. And that’s from Kyung’s unprofessional knowledge alone. If his common sense hadn’t fucked off along with the champagne, he’d be rethinking this entire thing, but as it is, the latent anger that’d been churning in him since he first got into this mess comes spilling out as he drags M’s hand away from his mouth and wraps his legs around M’s waist to tug him in closer.

“Anyone ever told you you talk too much?” Kyung asks him when they’re nose-to-nose again. Kyung doesn’t want _talking_ anymore; at this point, he doesn’t care if M’s going to hurt him or not, he just wants to get off. There’s also the fact that Jiho’s lying right there that gives Kyung a sense of potentially misplaced invincibility, but invincibility nonetheless. So he slides a hand in M’s hair to kiss him again, trying to keep Jiho’s warning in mind when he reaches down to undo his own pants.

//

M has just about had enough with Kyung’s insolence so he rolls over, tugging Kyung on top of him, and then sits up. He can see Kyung’s momentary surprise, but then he’s up and walking to the wall, slamming Kyung against it, hard enough for him to exhale with a sharp huff. But M doesn’t give him a chance to recover, he just unwraps Kyung’s legs from around his waist and sets him down before leaning down and kissing him, ripping his shirt in two as he tears it off.

“I told you I didn’t want to do that,” he purrs into Kyung’s mouth, splaying his hand on Kyung’s ribs, the other edging downward to thumb open his pants, shoving them off, his nails catching the side of Kyung’s hips on the way down. “Always talking back…”

He wraps his hand around Kyung’s cock and gives it a few lazy tugs, looking back over his shoulder to see that Z hasn’t moved, is lying there watching them, his expression unreadable. Good. M wants to leave a mess behind; it’s what he’s always done and this is no different. Kyung’s nails dig into his arm and he turns his back on Z, growling as he pushes Kyung back against the wall again.

“Turn around,” he growls, loud enough for Z to hear.

//

If Kyung’s head had felt like cotton wool, earlier, the sudden pain at being slammed against a fucking wall cuts straight through that. He exhales sharply, feet landing onto the ground with a thud. It should make him mad, it _should_ , but all it does is make him gasp when M grips hold of his cock and his hips buck up involuntarily. _Fuck_ , he thinks, tipping his head back against the wall as he watches M glance over at Jiho.

His should’ve known this is what M was here for; people that you couldn’t help wincing about when you talked about fucking them usually came with a complex history. That leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that’s not quite from the blood earlier. So, for the first time that night, Kyung complies and turns over to face the wall, hand running over his own hips where his skin stung with M’s scratches.

He’s not sure what M wants with him—beyond the foreseeable stuff—shouldn’t he be gone now that he’s done with Jiho? But if it’s a show he wants to put on, Kyung can give him that—he tips a little bit backwards, curling his arm around the back of M’s neck to tug him close, kissing his ear as he murmurs, “Always theatrical.” He smells like cologne and soap and something _lethal_ that Kyung’d never found on Jiho. And it’s this that has Kyung biting down on his earlobe.

//

M doesn’t say anything, just pushes Kyung flat against the wall, stepping away for a second to grab the lube from where he’d put it back on the bedside table, grabbing one of the condoms that’s next to it for good measure. He trails his hand over Kyung’s shoulders, down his back, to massage circles into the small of his back just above his ass, not doing anything, not yet.

“Did you know?” he begins, loud enough for Z to hear, uncapping the lube. “This is the way I first had Z.”

He squirts some lube onto his fingers before pushing one inside Kyung, hearing him inhale sharply. M turns around to look at Z, his head cocked to the side. “Isn’t that right, Z?” he mutters, ripping open the condom with his teeth and spitting the foil away.

“Don’t,” Z mutters, and M genuinely can’t tell if it’s _don’t continue with this story_ or _don’t fuck my boyfriend_ – it’s not like it matters, because he’s going to do both, but he kinda wants to know.

“Don’t what?” he asks, rolling the condom on with one hand and, in one smooth motion, slides his fingers out from Kyung’s ass and positions himself, sliding his cock in, making Kyung gasp. “Don’t do this?”

He winds his hand in Kyung’s hair and tilts his head back, exposing his throat as he begins to thrust, the lust still overcoming him despite his earlier orgasm.

//

If M’s fingers in his ass wasn’t enough to make his eyes roll up as he scrabbles at the wall for purchase, him thrusting in in one fluid motion does. Kyung gasps, involuntarily pushing his hips up against the wall at the sudden stretch because he’s suddenly so _full_ and it _hurts_ and the corner of his eyes prick with unshed tears. M’s thrusts come relentlessly, and when he tugs at Kyung’s hair, it only serves for him to angle even deeper, body pulled into a taut line.

Pressed up like this, Kyung let’s his eyes flutter shut momentarily as the pleasure takes over. He plants a hand on the wall for stability, the other curling over M’s biceps, digging in as though he might tip over if he doesn’t hold on. All at once, the fight goes out of him as he tips his head back against M’s shoulder: easy, pliant, and not at all like he had been before. When he opens his eyes again, it’s to find Jiho watching them both, eyes glazed over with something dark. _Fuck_ , Kyung thinks, but can’t articulate, because all that escapes him now are choked, breathy moans

//

For all his mouthing off, M didn’t expect Kyung to give in so easily – but he does, his head leaning back against M’s shoulder, an offering. M laughs at that, his breath huffing into Kyung’s ear as he kisses the line of his throat gently before biting him again, marking him as his own, eyes flicking over to see Z watching them wordlessly, his eyes dark, expressionless.

It’s that – knowing he’s fucked them both, literally and figuratively – that has him groaning as he licks up Kyung’s neck, kissing his jaw roughly. “God, Z…” he pants into Kyung’s skin. “I was right. He is delicious.”

**

Jiho growls at that, pushing himself up into a sitting position, hating how he’s hard again from watching them like this, watching Kyung get fucked by M. It’s hot, and once again he wishes it _wasn’t_ , but somewhat helplessly he starts jerking himself off, catching Kyung’s eye when he turns to look at him.

God, Kyung looks gorgeous – want and need and pleasure telegraphed all over his face, blood smeared all over his neck, his lips plump and red from all the kissing. He can appreciate that abstractly, even if he wants to go over there and sock M in the face; he is rough and angular and when he pulls Kyung’s head back it looks wrong, perhaps because it’s not Jiho’s hand doing it. It’s all he can do to keep stroking himself, fingers digging into the sheets as Kyung moans, biting his lip so hard he tastes blood.

//

This is _different_ ; with Jiho, even when it’d been tense and rough between them, it’d always been about drawing together, magnetised. With M, it’s all he can do not to get swept away as he’s fucked within an inch of his life. He’s obscene, too, licking a hot stripe up Kyung’s neck all the way to his ear, in a way that almost has his knees buckling. It’s not until he hears M _still talking_ to Jiho that something in him snaps and he tugs at M’s arm so Kyung’s head in his grasp jerks back, allowing him to come eye-to-eye with him.

“Fuck off,” Kyung barks out, aware that he’s stuttering from the force of M’s thrusts, coherence held together only by a thin thread of anger, “and fuck me.” He has so much more to lash out, all the questions he’s ever had about Jiho, all the images that’d sprung up on him when M said that this was the way he’d fucked Jiho their first time, too. Was that a different Jiho then? The younger Jiho that Kyung’d felt so indignant for? He lifts his hand from the wall then, gripping M’s chin so he can tug him in for a biting kiss just to shut him up. The more he talks, the more he’s going to wind Kyung up, and as it is, he doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer.

//

Ah, there he is again – and angry, if the way he’s grabbing M’s chin and biting M’s lips is any indication. That just fuels him further – anger he can work with, anger he _thrives_ off. So he digs his nails into Kyung’s hips just as he did to Z and thrusts harder, faster, kissing Kyung back hungrily, like he wants to devour him. He opens his eyes to see Z sitting up jerking himself off and he growls at that, the sight fueling him further.

**

Jiho watches as M reaches around and grasps Kyung’s cock, jerking him off in time with his thrusts, making Kyung buck wildly underneath him. Jiho can tell, just from watching, that Kyung is close to coming – his eyes are screwed shut as he moans into M’s mouth somewhat helplessly, his fingers clenching on M’s chin. Jiho commits that sight to memory, because even though it makes him sick with jealousy (this must have been what Kyung was feeling earlier, he realises, too late) it’s incredibly erotic at the same time, and he groans in sync with Kyung.

//

His usual verbal outpour is unsurprisingly absent. Releasing M’s chin to brace himself against the wall, Kyung’s back curves tautly as he fucks the circle of M’s hand. It takes him one look at Jiho—mouth hanging slightly open, eyes only at half-mast, hand on his own dick like he can’t help himself—for Kyung to come with his fingers curling uselessly against the wall.

The both of them lurch shakily forward when Kyung’s arms give way and he finds himself pressed up against the hard wall, M’s hand still wrapped almost unforgivingly around his sensitive dick. But he barely has the capacity to react, breath still coming in harsh pants, _whimpering_ as he lets M fuck him up against the wall. The cement feels cool against his cheek, and that’s the only respite he gets from how it feels like his skin is on fucking fire, forcing himself to focus on not collapsing into a heap.

//

It’s the combination of Kyung, tightening around him and collapsing onto the wall like he can barely stand to be upright, and his whimpers that push M over the edge once again. He sinks his teeth into Kyung’s shoulder as he comes, thrusting so hard that Kyung is slammed into the wall over and over again, groaning.

M only stands there for a moment, coming down from yet another orgasm, before pulling out and tidying up, grabbing Kyung by the wrist and pushing him gently towards the bed and towards Z, who catches him with open arms. M watches them with interest as he does up his pants, pulling his shirt over his head and rebuckling his holsters. It’s almost like they don’t know he’s there, they’re so absorbed in each other; he snorts as he slings his jacket over his shoulder.

“Well,” he begins, leaning down and kissing Z quickly, doing the same to Kyung in turn, “I had a blast, it was fun, yadda yadda.”

He turns and heads for the door, feeling buoyant and on top of the world; two orgasms in a row will do that to you. “Hope to see you around, Z,” he throws back over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him. He reaches for his cigarettes and lights up in the elevator, sighing as the smoke enters his lungs.

What a curious turn of events.

**

The moment the door shuts behind M – now _that_ was the quickest Jiho had ever seen him move – he’s suddenly paralysed with anxiety, completely unsure of anything. Will this have changed everything between them? He strokes Kyung’s back and tries to ignore the way his hands are shaking.

“Hey,” he whispers, kissing Kyung on the chest chastely. “You okay?”


	18. Chapter 18

Kyung quite honestly wants to crawl under the covers and throw them over himself, blanket himself in darkness and just not _think_ about anything that’d just happened. But Jiho’s concern bleeds freely over his face and despite all the residual jealousy still churning in him, he _knows_ that he hadn’t exactly been a passive participant in this. So Kyung does the only thing he knows how: laughs, pushes himself up, kisses Jiho’s cheek in a way that he hopes is reassuring and shakily gets to his feet.

There’s too much blood on both of them that’s hindering Kyung from being able to think straight. Then again, he doesn’t think something like this can be straightened out anyway, not the way he’d like it to be.

“I need to, ugh—” he starts, then stops to clear his hoarse throat; his cheek still feels cold from the cement wall and he has this indescribable urge to douse himself in hot water “—shower. Wanna join me?” It’s less of a question and more of a way to make things seem like it’s normal, like Kyung hadn’t stupidly gotten himself into this mess out of sheer jealousy alone. If everything hurts now, he’s sure he’s going to regret it even more the next morning, when his body has had time to assess and decide how to get back at him for this. But then again, nothing will quite sting as much as the thread of _something_ that tied Jiho to— _no_ , Kyung doesn’t wait for a reply as he makes his way to the bathroom, a little slower than he’d like.

//

Jiho waits for a second, his arms wrapped around his aching ribs, feeling spent and tired and absolutely miserable. Now that the fog of lust has cleared from his brain he can tell what a huge mistake this was. Slowly, hesitantly, he gets up and follows Kyung into the bathroom, stepping into the shower and circling his arms around Kyung’s waist, leaning his chin on Kyung’s shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispers, closing his eyes and drawing Kyung close just for a moment before letting him go and grabbing the tiny bottle of bodywash off the shelf, lathering up his hands and massaging Kyung’s back gently. “Always will.”

//

It’s hard not to just give in and melt against Jiho when his touches are so careful and gentle, but when he turns to come face to face to him, it’s M’s voice that comes floating back to him, the derision, the weight it held. And maybe it meant something or maybe it meant nothing at all; something still snarls angry and jealous in Kyung, anyway. He’d thought that this was their one bubble of safety, the one place they could leave only good memories, but it’s starting to feel like all they can leave in the wake is wreckage.

“I know,” Kyung says, cupping Jiho’s neck gently, right over the bite mark. They have a matching set now; Kyung doesn’t point it out, because it’s not really Jiho’s fault, whatever their history is—if there’s _still_ a history in the making. Jiho looks just as tentative and unsure as Kyung feels strangely volatile. The back of his head throbs from when M had slammed him against the wall and aggravated his freshly healed head wound. The hair tugging certainly didn’t help either. “Are _you_ okay?”

//

“Yeah,” Jiho lies, the words rolling off his tongue easily, smiling tentatively at Kyung. “I’m fine.”

He shuts his mouth before he has the gall to say anything more because as it is he doesn’t really know where they stand, which hurts, as much as he hates to admit it. Fucking M. Every time he walked into Jiho’s life he seemed to bring nothing but chaos and madness; he needn’t have brought Kyung down with him. So Jiho just smiles as he rubs bodywash over Kyung’s chest, his fingers swirling around in slow circles, feeling Kyung relax underneath him.

“We can go home,” he whispers, unbidden, realising the truth as soon as the words come to him. He sees Kyung’s eyes widen in response, surprised.

The thought of home scares him as much as he longs to go back there; it feels like everything that’s happened to them over the past two weeks or so has been a dream, separate from their normal lives in Seoul – well. Kyung has a normal life to go back to. Everything Jiho’s known for the past three years has been fractured and lies broken at his feet, his future suddenly muddy, uncertain. The only thing that’s a constant, that he knows he can count on, is Kyung – or at least he hopes.

//

Kyung’d entirely forgotten that in light of everything else that had happened. In his defense, he’s still drunk, and now he’s battered all over, too. The small spark of hope he’d nursed since he reached this town flares brightly in his chest, but he bites down on his lip. If there’s one thing he’s learnt since all this started, it’s that every time you think you can rest on your haunches, someone’s going to knife you in the back first. 

“Can you trust him?” Kyung asks, just as quiet, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. He feels as small as he sounds—the promise of home is unthinkable, after all that. Was he supposed to wake up and go to class again? Sit in the library through the small hours of the night? And Jiho—Kyung takes another step closer, sliding his arms around his waist, carefully feeling the raised welts on his back. “He’s not exactly—” Stable? Sane-looking? Way too concerned about antagonizing Jiho for Kyung’s tastes? “—he’s from the organization.” 

//

“Yes,” Jiho replies instantly, surprising even himself. “He hasn’t tried to kill me once, and there’s been a lot of times that he could have.” 

Perhaps it’s sad that it’s a testament to his life that he defines those he can trust as those he hasn’t tried to be killed by – but it’s worked for him so far. He sees the doubt on Kyung’s face, and touches his cheek gently, circling his other arm around Kyung’s waist. “We can keep laying low for a while if you’d like. Up to you. I can try and make some calls, too, to try and figure out what’s going on.”

He has no doubt in his heart, though, that M was speaking the truth – it all fits as to why they weren’t getting jobs, why they were chasing after Kyung and him with such voracity. 

//

Kyung’s torn between pointing out to Jiho that there’s probably a reason why M hasn’t killed him yet—and it might be the same reason why Kyung finds it so fucking hard to walk away when he should’ve, in the first place—and just staying silent so he doesn’t shatter this fragile stillness between them. When it comes down to it, he doesn’t think he can stomach whatever Jiho might tell him right here and now.

So he covers Jiho’s hand on his cheek with his own, closes his eyes and sticks his head in the sand once more. Jiho doesn’t get that Kyung’s life is in his hands—had been, from the second Kyung heard his first ever gunshot. More importantly, he doesn’t get that there’s no _up to you_ to Kyung, because his whole life has corroded to this: standing in a bathroom with Jiho, worse for wear and still holding onto each other.

“Okay,” he says instead, glancing up to look at Jiho, “you’re the expert here.” He doesn’t like the atmosphere one bit, wanting to get back to how they’d been in the restaurant—tipsy and happy with the prospect of staying _safe_. Disentangling himself from Jiho, he turns back around to snag the tiny bottle of soap to get on with what he was doing, wanting to scrub the imprints of M’s hands off of of his hips. An impossible feat, considering the bastard left actual marks. “What’re you gonna do first, when you get home?”

// 

Jiho just watches, slightly cold since Kyung’s standing under the spray, as Kyung scrubs at his hips, washing away the traces of blood that have dried there. Something rises in his throat at the sight of that – anger? Jealousy? Some amalgamation of both, perhaps, he doesn’t really know – but he just swallows and looks down at the ground.

“I… I don’t know,” he says, hating how small he sounds, hating how his life has turned into a series of question marks in front of his eyes. “Sleeping in my own bed would be a nice start, I guess.” 

It’s not like he’d really expected life to just resume as normal when they’d come back from their holiday, but, God, the Organisation is all he’s known for three years. He’d expected differences – but he hadn’t expected to be left high and dry with no future to speak of. Because that’s where he is right now, isn’t he? Drifting in the worst way, the future suddenly looking very empty and bleak.

 “What about you?” he croaks, trying desperately to blink away the tears that form in his eyes, unwelcome and uninvited.

//

“Probably rediscovering what it’s like to be grounded,” Kyung murmurs under his breath, wincing when he drags his hand through his hair and touches a sticky spot. Yeah, he’s incurred enough damages to fulfil his injury quota for the year. Permanent bedrest seemed nice. It’s not until he’s turning to ask Jiho to take a look for him that he catches the look on his face and Kyung freezes, realizing that the two of them had been running off two very different tangents. Kyung’d been thinking about how safe it is to go home, because he _has_ a home to return to. He’s got his parents—none too happy, but undeniably familiar and real—he’s got his shitty dorm room and Jaehyo, he’s got a routine to get back to, no matter how surreal that feels. But Jiho?

“And you,” Kyung says, slowly, because if Jiho hasn’t realized it by now that he’s stuck to Kyung for good, then he doesn’t know what else he can do or say to make that evident. And maybe Kyung isn’t enough to fix this, maybe Kyung has only gone and screwed it up even more. It still can’t hurt to try. “If you want to, I mean—you didn’t think this was it, did you?” He snakes one soapy arm around Jiho’s torso and shoves away all his biting, jealous thoughts for a second—they’re not important in the light of how unsure Jiho looks. “The Park Kyung dating experience isn’t over yet.” 

//

Jiho nuzzles Kyung’s hair and sighs, biting the inside of his cheek, willing the tears not to spill over. “No, no. I know. You’re stuck with me. I just…” he pulls Kyung into a hug, unable to find the words to express what he’s feeling; _hopeless_ and _lost_ don’t even begin to come close. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”

Because the Organisation was not just a job. It was his _life._ All encompassing and omnipresent. Even when he was drifting when he’d come back from the army he’d never felt this… disoriented. He doesn’t know what it means to be normal; he never has – and now he’s going to have to. He’ll have to get a regular job, and – oh god. A sudden paralysing anxiety seizes him and his arms tighten around Kyung involuntarily, pressing his lips together as he cries into Kyung’s hair, feeling stupid and small.

“Oh, god, you’re bleeding,” he murmurs as his lips come away wet with blood from a spot in Kyung’s hair, ignoring the way his voice is thick with tears. “Turn around, let me have a look.”

He pores through Kyung’s hair, finding that the head wound he’d had from smacking onto the concrete outside his apartment has busted open and is weeping a little bit. It’s not bad enough to need stitches but still he tuts, focusing on this so he doesn’t have to think about anything else. 

//

“It’s just blood,” Kyung says, realising the irony of what he’d just said the moment the words leave him. If the Kyung that had left his dorm room with his bag clutched tightly was fearful and anxious about what was going to happen, then who is he now? “Your ex seemed to like it and he’s still alive and kicking.”

Kyung freezes; his brain-to-mouth filter had ceased functioning when Jiho thumbed over his wound, but he hadn’t meant to say that. Aloud, at least. He’s glad for the fact that they weren’t facing each other, because he _knows_ what Jiho would look like and Kyung would have to look away anyway. Still, he forces himself to turn, to face Jiho as he says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it… to come out like that. My head is fine.” Carefully, he reaches up to tuck Jiho’s hair behind his ear instead, cupping the base of his head. “I need to know if _you_ are." 

In the end, Kyung doesn’t know what Jiho _would_ end up doing. Stay in Seoul? Make an attempt to start life elsewhere? Would he have to face the music of the aftermath of his job? Or would he hop onto the payroll of another shadowy organisation? The last one makes him physically ill to think about, that after all this, Jiho would be back to square one.

//

A blade of pain, neat and sharp and harsh, slides in between his ribs at Kyung’s words, but he does his best to not let it show as Kyung turns and touches his face gently. “I’m fine,” he lies, grinning widely and kissing Kyung on the forehead. “I’m fine.”

He’s not – he’s having an existential crisis and he wishes the ground would swallow him up – but he can pretend, and he _will_ pretend, just to see the light stay behind Kyung’s eyes a little longer, even if his smile is slightly bitter. Even like this, Kyung’s still beautiful, and Jiho itches to draw him, with his eyelashes heavy with water drops and his lips slightly parted; it’s this thought that makes him blurt, “maybe I really could go to art school,” before clamping his lips shut tight, slightly stunned at himself.

//

 _Only you_ , Kyung thinks with an odd sense of fondness, _would cry and smile in the same breath and think it’s normal_. He doesn’t want to push it, though, doesn’t want to force Jiho to say things he doesn’t really want to talk about in this post-orgasmic, post-getting _fucked_ haze. When they talk about their futures—and Kyung’s going to ask Jiho to promise not to fall back into his old ways, although that might be a shitfest on his own—he’s going to do have to do it when they’re both bleeding and raw both inside and out.

“Is that what you want?” Kyung asks, feeling his mood pick up at the sight of Jiho’s stunned expression. Now that it’s out in the open, Kyung realizes that this was something he’d always wanted to ask: why didn’t Jiho enrol in art school? Why did he choose to soak his shirts in blood red rather than paint red? “God, I’m gonna date an _artist_ . Jaehyo’s never gonna let me live it down.” He takes Jiho’s hand then, pulls his arm around Kyung’s so he can draw him under the spray of the shower. And under the loudness of the water, he presses his lips to Jiho’s collarbone and mumbles, “I don’t think you believe this, but if it’s you, there’s nothing you can’t do.” When he closes his eyes, he sees Jiho storming across the room, furious and resplendent in his anger, Jiho, beaten within an inch of his life and still _fighting_. “But it’s okay, I can believe enough for the both of us. For now.”

//

Jiho draws his arms around Kyung automatically, a reflex, sighing as Kyung kisses him on the collarbone. There’s too many variables for him to really consider it seriously (he’s never been to school before; his drawings probably aren’t good enough; his marks wouldn’t be good enough; an art degree doesn’t give you a career) but he finds he might just _want_ it now that the words are out there.

“You have too much faith in me,” he mutters, kissing the top of Kyung’s head and closing his eyes. “I don’t – I probably wouldn’t be any good at it, anyway.”

He’s gotten to the point where normalcy and the idea of it frightens him; perhaps the Organisation has fucked him up more than he realised. Killing was _easy_ , he was good at it, and it was all he knew for so long. Now he feels like a baby, like he’s going to have to relearn everything from scratch; he _hates_ it.

//

“One of us has to believe in _something,_ ” Kyung points out as he draws away, looking over Jiho carefully. It’s like he’s seeing him for the first time, all over again, and it feels like his skin is too tight, like he might be blinded if he looks too long. So he grins as he presses a kiss to Jiho’s jaw, then grabs the bottle of soap so he can squirt more onto his hand to lather them both up. “And besides, I’m a man of science. I’ll _prove_ that you’re good.”

The challenging tone slips easily back into his voice; this is something he knows how to do, if not something he knows how to do best. Fucking Jiho’s ex… now _that_ had been shaky, unsure territory, and watching Jiho get fucked by his ex, well, that was not an experience Kyung would ever want to relive, especially in light of everything that M’d said, the seeds of doubt that M’d single-handedly sown with—he doesn’t want to think about all that when home seems more palpable than ever. The thought of seeing his family and friends again sinks into his bones like a welcome respite, easily shrouding the bitter jealousy that’d consumed him earlier.

//

 Jiho shoehorns his impending mental breakdown for later – when Kyung’s asleep – and smiles down at him. “Science vs the arts. Who will win?” he intones in a dramatic voice as Kyung scrubs circles into his chest.

This Kyung he can deal with – challenging, cheeky, raising an eyebrow at Jiho as he lathers them up. This is a Kyung that’s familiar to him, and it fills him with enough boldness to lean down and kiss Kyung quickly – just a chaste brush of lips, but it’s their first since M left – before pulling back and grinning. “I’m gonna vote for art.”

//

“Getting smug before you’re even _in_ the course?” Kyung questions, finding himself grinning at Jiho’s sudden kiss. Like an instant mood booster, all his unsettled feelings suddenly quell as he rolls his eyes and hoses them both off. “Typical.” He can guess that Jiho’s still worried, though, if not for his sudden bright smile, then for the way his eyes are still red-rimmed. But Kyung doesn’t know what to do—any other times they’ve come remotely close to talking about their feelings, it’d usually been accompanied with a spectacular implosion of some kind. He’s usually good with people, but Jiho is a whole other mystery.

So he slips his arms around Jiho’s torso, backs him out of the shower and into the bathroom and then back into the room, snagging a towel on his way out. He presses soft kisses against Jiho’s lips with every step, insistent and careful, like each one can erase what had just transpired between them. _It’s not a mistake,_  he tells himself firmly, because they’ve just started thinking that things were going to be alright; Jiho’s ribs had barely even _healed_. So it’s not really a mistake, not if Kyung doesn’t let it be. And he doesn’t know what Jiho thinks—but he’d seen Jiho’s mouth hanging open when Kyung’d been fucked, and he hopes his assumption isn’t too far off the mark.

“Things are gonna be fine,” Kyung says, soft and persuasive, throwing the towel over Jiho’s head like a hood. “ _Trust_ me."

//

Jiho grabs the towel and gathers it to his chin so he looks like a nun, looking beseechingly upwards in a parody that makes Kyung snort. “Somehow I find that hard to believe,” he replies, towelling off his hair and then throwing the towel around Kyung’s own head, “given our history.” 

But now that the Organisation is gone – could they really have a chance for a normal life? Given all they’ve been through it seems like a ridiculous assumption, and Jiho would give anything to go back to those few weeks of relative normalcy before they stormed his apartment and sent everything into a tailspin. Could he _really_ have that again? He’s almost too scared to hope as he picks Kyung up easily, cradling him close to his chest as he walks to the bed, a sudden exhaustion overtaking him. He grins down at Kyung and waggles his eyebrows, pushing that thought – and all others of a peaceful future – away. “Tired?”

//

His breath catches when Jiho picks him up like he’s feather-light and he links his arms securely around Jiho’s shoulders, keeping the both of them pressed flush together even when Jiho tries to set him down on the bed. There’s a chance—a high chance, if Kyung lets himself believe it—that they might be doing this another time, in another place, when they haven’t been forced here by their circumstances, and the thought makes him card Jiho’s hair wonderingly. Hope is dangerous, he’s learnt, and not too kindly either.

“M,” Kyung says again, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep if he doesn’t get this off his chest, because he thinks that, after all this time, honesty _should_ come easier between the both of them, if not easily, “you guys—did you ever—was he ever—” Kyung chews on his lower lip, trying to organise what he’s trying to say into proper sentences that didn’t end up sounding accusatory or jealous or _bitter_ , even if those last two things were exactly what he is. “He followed you here, didn’t he?”

//

Kyung clings to him like a limpet so Jiho sits down on the edge of the bed, Kyung ending up curled on his lap, his arms still linked around Jiho’s neck. “M was…” he begins, unsure how to explain. “What we had – no.” He shakes his head and touches his forehead to Kyung’s. “We never had a thing. It was a purely physical urge, a fulfilment of a need, nothing more. I love only you. I’ve _loved_ only you.”

He kisses Kyung at that, softly and gently, first on the lips and then on the nose, the eyelids, the forehead, everywhere he can reach until he’s peppered kisses all over Kyung’s face. The sad truth seems empty when he speaks it – that Kyung’s the only person he’s ever loved – so he closes his eyes, unable to face his own reality.

//

Kyung closes his eyes when Jiho kisses him, not quite realising that he’s holding his breath until Jiho pulls away, the silence sitting palpably between them both. He doesn’t _know_ what to say—the weight of Jiho’s confession’d squeezed all the air out of him. It stings, because this shouldn’t be the way it is, because Kyung’s seen the breadth and depth of Jiho’s capability for affection, and he’s _drowning_ in it.

 _It’s not fair_ , he thinks for the umpteenth time, as he presses his hand over Jiho’s heart. “See this?” Kyung asks, sounding a little shaky as he drums his fingers gently over Jiho’s chest. “I’m gonna keep this safe.” He wants to tell Jiho that it’s not his fault that things have turned out the way they are, that he didn’t know any better. But they would both know that those words are only superfluous; meaningless, in that they can’t make clean all the spilled blood. So he says the only thing that does matter, the only thing that he knows for sure, that even in a moment of life and death, it’d been the only thing he clung to fiercely: “I love you too.”

// 

“Come here,” Jiho murmurs, drawing Kyung close and burying his face in Kyung’s hair, closing his eyes and just _being_. “I’m never gonna get tired of you saying that.”

He strokes small circles on Kyung’s back, breathing in the smell of him, how warm and solid and fucking real he is in Jiho’s arms, and he knows he’s never going to let him go, not now and not ever. No matter how uncertain the future is, he _knows_ he’s got Kyung, and honestly? That’s all he’ll ever need in life. Even if he ends up on the street again (which, he will admit, is unlikely given his seven figure bank balance) the truth is that Kyung and he are so intertwined that it’s hard to imagine himself without Kyung by his side.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers into Kyung’s hair, sighing happily. “I’m tired.”

//

After what Jiho’d said last night, Kyung makes it his mission to punctuate every other sentence with an infuriatingly cheery _I love you_ , if only to see Jiho’s range of reactions. They spend the rest of that week licking their wounds as Jiho calls up his contacts and finds only dead ends. The French restaurant doesn’t see them ever again. When Jiho’s sure that the horizon is most likely clear of death threats, Kyung sets a timeline. He texts Jaehyo first, tells him he’ll be back in a week or so—he catches Jiho watching him, as if a little nervous, eyes flicking back to whatever magazine he’d snagged from the lobby when Kyung turns to glance at him—and receives a barrage of excited-infuriated-anxious texts in return.  

The following day, Kyung drags Jiho out into the neighbouring town again, though this time they take Jiho’s temporary car because he stubbornly refused to get onto the scooter.

“Spoilsport,” Kyung had huffed, but he didn’t really want to be carted across the lobby like a sack of potatoes, so he’d reluctantly let Jiho drag him along to the carpark. The mall they visit is largely empty at this time of the day, and Kyung experiences a strong sense of deja vu as they saunter past the sparsely populated stretch of clothing shops. He pauses mid–walk then and turns to Jiho, finger hooking around one of his belt loops, asking, “Want me to buy you a shirt?”

It’s kind of a moot point, because Kyung technically doesn’t have any money left. He’d spent all that buying shit for Jiho the first time they got back to the motel. And then he’s going to think of how to start paying Jiho back for freeloading off of him for several weeks. But none of that is relevant in the face of how Jiho lights up with amusement. “And then I gotta get Jaehyo a shirt. And Taeil, or he’s going to complain. God, and then my _siblings_ —”

// 

Jiho leans down to kiss Kyung, taking a step closer and sliding his arms around Kyung’s waist, continuing the kiss for what’s more than polite in public, the deja vu overcoming him. “Luckily for _you_ , you’ve got me,” he breathes, pulling back slightly, watching Kyung’s pupils dilate. “I’m very good at pretending. And I’ve got a very big budget...”

He winks down at Kyung before grabbing his hand and dragging him into the nearest shop. It’s one of those touristy shops that every seaside town seems to have; this one is no exception. While a lot of their stuff has the town’s name written all over it, there are a number of tacky items that are name free and could easily pass from being from Thailand or wherever Kyung’s pretending to be from.

“What about this?” he asks, holding up a hideous hibiscus print button-up shirt that hurts his eyes to look at, reminding him of his own shirt back home.

He’d got it off the rack as a joke, but Kyung’s eyes light up, and he snatches it from Jiho and slings it over his arm, along with the other similarly-patterned shirts he’s found. Eventually, with all their wandering, they find themselves in an aisle of beach-themed knickknacks, and look at each other for a long moment before loading up. By the time they leave the shop, Kyung’s got enough phony souvenirs to sink a small ship, and to go the extra mile they sit down on a bench overlooking the beach and order a few “I heart Thailand” shirts on ebay and get them delivered to Jiho’s apartment. 

The next six days pass in a blur; they spend a lot of time just sitting on the beach with their arms wrapped around each other, looking out over the water and not saying anything. The bubble that was burst when M arrived never quite came back in full force, but on the last day it was very similar. Jiho’d been up before dawn because of a nightmare when Kyung had woken up, too, sensing something was wrong, and they’d walked down to the beach together and watched the sky turn a thousand different shades. Jiho’d tried to put as many down on paper as he could, Kyung’s profile silhouetted against a burning kaleidoscope of colours. That day they’d moved slowly when they were packing the car for the long ride, somehow not wanting to leave it all behind – but then they’d had to, and they were on the road, starting the long journey home. Jiho had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand in Kyung’s and it was okay, it was all gonna be okay, even if the thought of what they were driving towards made him sick with fear.

//

The first thing Jiho does when they switch back to his car is make an embarrassingly loud sound as he touches it reverently, leaving Kyung to pick up the bag he’d abandoned halfway through the sparsely populated parking lot. It’s dusty, obviously, but Jiho looks at it like it’s the best thing he’s seen in his entire damn life. Kyung would roll his eyes if not for the excited sparkle in Jiho’s eyes, if not for the way he grins, almost maniacally, as they clamber in and Jiho gets to rev up the engine for the first time in weeks.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Kyung asks, strapping in his seatbelt the tightest it’ll go, then clutching it as though it’s his lifeline. He’s not wrong on that count—Jiho drives like they aren’t entering a busy city, weaving through cars with an expertise that makes Kyung fearful to talk about. He’d have closed his eyes for the entire ride, if not for Jiho reaching across to squeeze his thigh laughingly, amused.

It’s only when they’re standing in front of Jiho’s front door that Kyung experiences a sense of deja vu—the last time he’d stood right here, Jiho’d shoved him down to the ground and whipped out his gun for the very first time. He steps over the threshold of Jiho’s apartment—as Jiho makes himself busy with checking and rechecking each room, almost obsessively—and sees the dead bodies lying prone on the ground, sees the couch blasted away from its original position, sees dust and debris colour the darkened room, sees Jiho with his cheek sliced open— The light flickers on and the images disappear. In its place is a musty, slightly dusty living room, where Jiho’s currently making _yet another_ round. They’re supposed to be home; everything was supposed to revert back to normal, for a given definition of “normal”, anyway.

“Everything okay?” Kyung asks, setting his bag down on the couch—it looks exactly the same as when Kyung’d first sat here, poring over Jiho’s sketchbook—and planting himself down as well.

//

Jiho re-enters the living room and sighs, relaxing, letting all his worries slide off his shoulders. “Yeah,” he replies, leaping over the back of the sofa to flop down next to Kyung, spooking him. “People came here while we were gone, but they didn’t take anything.” 

The long, long journey had been strangely therapeutic, and even somewhat restful – he remembers passing out in the front passenger seat and waking up to Kyung holding his hand. The only small bit of excitement he’d had was getting to drive his car again, and he’d practically moaned at the relief in having something with more than a hundred horsepower in his hands. There’d been no ambush at the apartment, no ambush on the way. Perhaps they really were safe.

 He tucks Kyung underneath his arm and kisses his temple, resisting the urge to yawn; he’d driven through the night for the last stretch. “You should go see Jaehyo, and your family,” he says. “Aren’t you sick of me?” He keeps his tone light, teasing; but he knows that Kyung needs to be around people who aren’t him, needs to deal with what happened in his own way.

//

“Yeah, your face is kinda getting boring,” Kyung mumbles back, kissing his way up Jiho’s neck to his ear. He’s not putting off going home, per se—okay, he’s putting off going home. Because the idea of lying to everyone he knows and loves for something as serious and life-changing as _this_ makes him feel like hopping into Jiho’s car and driving straight back to the beach.

He spends a little more time coaxing Jiho to strip down and orders him to bed (“No, I can take the bus— have you even heard of public transport?”). When Jiho grins sleepily up at him and cups Kyung’s cheek gently, Kyung presses a kiss right over his raised scar and thinks, _They can’t ever know_. There’s always going to be this this part of him that the people he’s known all his life will never know, and it’s that that causes a lump in his throat as he quietly leaves Jiho’s apartment with his bag strapped over his torso.  

The ride back helps; it feels a little like he’s absorbing the normalcy of the familiar sights rushing past him, and when he bumps into a friend on his way up to his room, he manages to hold a decent conversation about air travel in winter that he thinks Jiho would be reasonably proud of. It’s not until he sees Jaehyo slumped over his desk with a half-empty container of fried rice cooling next to his head that it hits Kyung that he’s _home_. For a moment, he stands in the middle of the room and feels like a complete stranger.

“I think I figured out what’s wrong wi—” Taeil’s voice comes from the entrance, barging in right behind Kyung. They stare at each other for a few seconds—and Kyung thinks: can he tell? What does he see when he sees me now?—but then Taeil snorts, crosses his arms even though his relief is evident on his face. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Kyung says, snapping back into action, running through the worn grooves of banter that he knows like the back of his hand, “ _s_ _o_ nice of you to welcome me back.”

“You’ve got a _bite mark_ on your neck,” Taeil points out, when Kyung removes his jacket to chuck both that and his bag down on the ground, collapsing onto his bed. Kyung claps a hand over his throat; the prospect of home had allowed that detail to slip out of his mind. It’s a good thing Taeil doesn’t pursue the topic, probably under the assumption that it’d been the byproduct of a wild, sexual escapade. And he isn’t quite wrong. “I thought you were on _vacation_.”

“Are you gonna police how I live my life now?” Kyung questions, blinking lazily up at Taeil, who’s taken the chance to poke around at Jaehyo’s equipment, for some reason.

“Only if you run away and scare the shit out of all of us.” The guilt that hits Kyung then makes him sit up, his apology on the tip of his tongue. “But at least you’re in one piece. Ugly, but in one piece.” Kyung laughs as he runs a hand through his hair. He didn’t think he’d miss this, didn’t think that he’d come to a point where Lee Taeil slandering him would make his chest ache from the relief of it all. “Oh, great, now you’ve lost it too.”

“Screw off, asshole,” Kyung says, swinging his legs off of his bed, hugging his pillow to himself. “I just missed you.”

“ _Definitely_ damaged,” Taeil says, pausing in the middle of unscrewing one of the lens to look over at Kyung dubiously, with badly disguised worry. Kyung doesn’t want to tell him that he’s actually _right_ , on this count. Taeil’s about to say something else when Jaehyo groans and mumbles his typical _shut the fuck up people are trying to catch some beauty sleep here_ but bolts upright mid-sentence, blinking owlishly at Kyung as if he’s not sure whether he’s awake or not.

“Jesus, I forgot you were coming back today,” Jaehyo mumbles, making the effort to roll his chair a little ways in Kyung’s direction to pat Kyung’s cheek in the condescending way one would to a dog after a long day at work. “’s nice to see you’ve completed your journey of enlightenment. And Lee Taeil—” behind Jaehyo, Taeil freezes at the sound of his name “—don’t even _think_ about messing around with that.”

Kyung can tell that they’re dying to know what he’s been up to, but he doesn’t know how to breach that subject yet. It’s one thing to keep mum on the topic of… well, the shitshow that he’s been through for the past month. It’s another thing to lie about it entirely and fabricate stories of adventures that never happened at all. So he forces Jaehyo to call for takeout from the campus’s pizza place—had pizza always tasted this heavenly?—and keeps them occupied with questions about his family (“You’re dead,” Jaehyo relays, “But I mentioned heartbreak and they’ve toned “murder” down to “concerned pep talks”) and their friends instead. As it turns out, on this side of sanity, nothing much can happen in the span of several weeks. 

It’s not only until Taeil leaves and Jaehyo’s clearing out the pizza boxes that he glances over at Kyung, a little too serious for Kyung’s liking, and asks, “You’re not telling me the whole story, are you?” Kyung drops the godamn snowglobe he’s unpacking so he’s saved from answering for the several minutes they take to clear that mess up. He doesn’t want to spin a story for Jaehyo, because Jiho had done that and it’d _hurt_ when the truth came out. He doesn’t think it’s fair to lie, either, not on him nor on Jaehyo. So he shoves the ugly hibiscus print shirt in Jaehyo’s direction and leaves it at, “Buying that shirt was the highlight of my trip. So you imagine the rest.”

Jaehyo purses his lips but doesn’t push and Kyung exhales a little easier. But then Jaehyo asks, “Did you talk to him?” next and for a second, Kyung has to think about who Jaehyo’s referring to. Jiho. Right.

“We’re… in the process of working things out,” Kyung says, only to have Jaehyo tighten his lips even further. “It’s not bad. We just misunderstood each other.” It’s one hell of an understatement, but Jaehyo seems to leave it at that. Whether out of a sense of respect for Kyung’s privacy, or because he’s clearly operating at a lack of sleep again, Kyung’s grateful.

Unsurprisingly, he has a nightmare later that night. It’s not as bad as the ones he’d gotten in the motel and a little at the beach, where either he or the faceless man ended up with the knife impaled in their chest cavities (and the unforgettable time where Kyung’d woken up with the dreadful conviction that Jiho’d died). He dreams of the beach hotel, instead. Only, it’s not the one that they’d left behind, no, he dreams of perpetually gray skies and perpetually abandoned rooms, leaving Kyung to wander from door to door all by himself. And when he wakes up, it’s to a plunging sense of desperation that’s exacerbated when he reaches for Jiho and finds a fistful of empty sheets instead. The panic rises easily in his chest as he forces himself upright and it takes him a little longer than comfortable to suss out where he is.

Blearily, Kyung fumbles for his phone to unlock it, and realizes that he doesn’t have Jiho’s number saved into it. He laughs to himself, dragging his hand down the side of his face—like this, everything that had passed this last few weeks could so, so easily be a dream. But then he catches sight of the terrible palm tree keychain hanging over his bedpost and he takes a deep breath. Jiho’d given him his number all those weeks back, and in his frenzied anxiety, Kyung’d more or less memorized it. It’s this number that Kyung punches in his phone then, holding very little hope that Jiho would actually pick up the phone. 

//

It takes Jiho a while to fall asleep, and not least because it’s 9 in the morning and the sun is leaking through the blinds, casting the room into some sort of grey that his brain recognises as daylight. No, mainly it’s because every time he begins to drift off he reaches out for Kyung sub-consciously, finding nothing but the emptiness of the bed, the coldness of the sheets. Eventually, though, he manages to drift off into a fitful sleep…

And wakes almost immediately, his head fuzzy and a warm liquid filling his mouth. He leans forward to get up, but the ties around his wrists cut into his skin painfully and he moans, looking up into the eyes of the nameless man who’s holding a knife to his neck.

“I’m going to cut your little boyfriend up into pieces,” he hisses, grabbing Jiho’s hair and pulling his head back so his throat is exposed. “He’s going to die screaming your name.”

Jiho tries to say something, but words are hard to form and he’s hurting so much, so he just blinks once, lazily, accepting his fate; accepting death. He’s just about to take his last breath in when Kyung steps into view, behind the man, holding a knife, his face hard and terrifying. Jiho opens his mouth to say something, to warn him, but the man is too fast – the knife that was at Jiho’s throat is gone in a flash and it’s all he can do but watch as the man whirls and slits Kyung’s throat open in one smooth movement. 

Kyung drops to the ground like a stone and Jiho knows he’s dead. He stares, just for a moment, his eyes comprehending but his brain refusing to – but then it all clicks into place and he opens his mouth to scream and scream, straining against the bindings, Kyung’s lifeless eyes staring into his soul –

“Jiho, Jiho,” Kyung says, closing a hand around his wrist and pulling him backwards, out of his dream. “Wake up, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Jiho bolts upright, his chest heaving, covered in a wetness that he first thinks is blood but that’s really sweat. Kyung’s kneeling on the bed next to him, concerned; he draws Jiho into his arms as Jiho pants, everything catching up to him slowly.

“I dreamt you were dead,” he sobs, wrapping his arms around Kyung, his fingers clenching in the fabric of Kyung’s shirt. “I thought – it was so fucking real. _God_. I thought you were dead.” 

Kyung strokes his back soothingly, kissing Jiho on the head softly. “I am dead,” he breathes, and Jiho stiffens, trying to pull back, but Kyung is weirdly strong. “We both are.” The last thing Jiho sees is Kyung leaning down to kiss him, his throat gaping and bloody, his eyes rotting away in his head, and he inhales to scream – 

And bolts upright to his phone ringing, vibrating on his bedside table. He reaches for it and sees it’s Kyung, and that it’s daylight again, but the date has changed – blearily, he realises he’s slept for nearly 24 hours. “Kyung?” he croaks, holding the phone to his ear and gritting his teeth to stop them from chattering, shaking so hard he feels like he’s going to fall off the bed. “Are you alright?”

//

The sound of Jiho’s voice should be a balm for him, but it only makes him realize that Jiho’s not holding up well himself, either. Between the both of them, it’s probably _Kyung_ who needs less comfort and assurance. He is, after all, back home where he’d always wanted to be, while Jiho—Kyung squeezes his dry eyes shut and sees Jiho standing in the bathroom, tears streaking his face in a way that makes Kyung stomach flip.  

“I know there’s a three-day rule when it comes to dates and I _just_ saw you,” Kyung says, teasingly, glad that his voice doesn’t tremble in the slightest. He reaches over to snag the keychain and thinks of a warmer day, when they’d both been arguing over which was tackier: a miniaturized palm tree or a four-leaf clover? It’s this feeling that he channels now as he closes his eyes and rests his head back onto his pillow. “But I missed you, and—” _And I reached out and you weren’t there so I panicked_ , Kyung finishes in his head “—are _you_ alright?”

The room is as still and cool as the keychain is in his hand, so he forces himself to concentrate on that, to remind himself that they’re supposed to be fine now, that they’re no longer being run down like some kind of fugitive.

//

“Yeah,” Jiho replies, digging his fingernails into his palm, trying to center himself. “I just – yeah. Nightmare. But yeah, I wanna see you too.” 

It’s glossing over the nightmare entirely but he doesn’t really care at this point – not when shakes are ravaging him, turning him inside out. He knows it was a dream, just a dream, but still – he can’t stop, so he swings his legs out of bed and staggers to his feet. “Do you want me to come over? Or – I mean, Jaehyo will be there, and I don’t think he’ll be happy to see me.”  
  
Not that Jiho can really blame him, because that’s exactly what he deserves after all that he’s put Kyung through – but it still stings, because he’d thought that maybe he’d have a chance to have real friends, for the first time since high school. 

//

“… you’re not in a hostage situation, are you?” Kyung mumbles as he glances over to Jaehyo (whose snoring had suspiciously quelled), only half-joking. Because it’s entirely possible that it _isn’t_ over yet and Jiho’s trying to keep him out of it, out of some misplaced idea that Kyung would’ve chosen that for himself. “Jaehyo’s…” 

Kyung pauses then, thinking of the way Jaehyo had looked last night, thoughtful, but doubtful. The last time Kyung’d seen that look on him, he’d ended up nearly punching their mutual friend’s ex on the street. Regardless of how tame he looks and acts, he’s not beyond defending his friends to the death. Ironically, it’d been Taeil who had said _not here_ and then steered all of them out of the public eye. How was Kyung supposed to explain that this wasn’t a stereotypical hiccup in a relationship? That Kyung had literally walked the line of life and death with Jiho and that there was no turning back for him?

“Probably not,” Kyung concurs, exhaling slowly. But the thing is this: he doesn’t want to go to Jiho’s apartment either. Stepping into it yesterday had reminded Kyung of how everything had been before, and it feels tender, like a still healing wound he has no intention to probe for progress. “How about I go to yours in the afternoon?” Better than nothing, he thinks, because he _has_ to see Jiho to make sure he’s okay; Kyung’s never been a particularly superstitious person, but he can’t rest easy until he sees Jiho with his own eyes. And it’s better than Jaehyo coming face to face with the both of them. Kyung’s one hell of a liar, but he doesn’t think he can hide how he feels for Jiho in any shape or form. Even _M_ had seen that.

//

“Yeah, okay,” Jiho replies, willing his hands to stop shaking as he gets up and heads slowly to the bathroom. “I’ve got an idea for a thing you can help me with.”

 He doesn’t know if Kyung’s going to like it, but he really does need his opinion; this apartment is tainted with the five men he’d killed here, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel comfortable here again. It’s kind of hard to call somewhere _home_ when it’d been breached over and over again. So he’d been thinking, on the drive back to Seoul, about getting a new apartment, and figures he can use Kyung’s opinion, because he knows fuck all about apartments. He’d only gotten this one because it had a nice view. “We’re going apartment shopping,” he declares into the echoey bathroom where he’d sat on the floor in front of Kyung and bared his soul. A beat passes before he realises what that sounds like, like he’s suggesting Kyung move in with him, and he blushes even though Kyung can’t see him. “I mean, I was thinking about it on the way back, and I think I need to move into a new place, you know, and I wanted your opinion – not like, er… I mean…” he drags a hand over his face, amazed at how tongue tied he can get. “You know what I mean.”

// 

“Not like… what?” Kyung teases intentionally, his tone coloured with nothing but warm affection. He hears the shyness in Jiho’s own voice and the feeling of desperation quickly dissipates to be replaced by an irrational longing. It’s weird, now that he’s home, what he misses most is no longer being able to extend his arm to reel Jiho closer to him at any given moment. Now _this_ was going to be a problem. “Tell me, I wanna know.”  

He rolls over on the bed then, turns so he’s facing the wall, coming face-to-face with the soda stains from a mishap they had in their first year here. Jaehyo’d stupidly attempted some ridiculous soda can experiment “in the name of art” and it’d gone exploding spectacularly over Kyung’s bed and the wall. They’d fought over that for an entire week, and they'd only made up because it was far too inconvenient to keep grunting noncommittally at each other. The memory feels so distant now, like it belongs to someone else that shared the same name as he did.

//

Kyung’s intentionally winding him up, they both know it, but he sits on the toilet lid heavily anyway, his ears going a particularly vibrant shade of crimson. “I mean… Not like I was asking you to move in with me.”

 He sticks his thumbnail into his mouth and chews, before realising how _that_ sounds. “Oh, god, I mean, not that I’d _mind_ if you wanted to move in with me, but I wasn’t trying to suggest… Fuck.”

He gives up on that useless train of thought entirely and hangs his head, wishing the ground would swallow him up. He can practically _hear_ Kyung’s grin through the phone and that makes it all worse.

//

Kyung laughs then, stifling his laughter against his pillow so Jaehyo doesn’t actually wake up and smother him. He pulls his blanket over his head, and for the first time since all this started—surrounded by the slightly musty smell of his own sheets—he feels completely and utterly safe. 

“You’re blushing now, aren’t you?” Kyung teases, but decides to take pity on Jiho when he makes an aborted sound. “Okay, okay, lunch. Then apartment search, I got it.” When he hangs up, he realizes that he has to put his own life back into order soon, too, and the thought leaves him feeling slightly faint. He’d have to figure out on how to catch up with nearly a month’s worth of coursework. That, and he’d have to fake stories for his exchange. He could justify coming back with no pictures by pretending his phone had been stolen, which isn’t quite far from truth. He definitely no longer had his phone. And _then_ his credentials on his transcript, and—he groans quietly to himself, pressing his face into his pillow once more.

//

Jiho groans into the bathroom, letting the phone drop from his hand and clutter to the floor. It’s ridiculous that he’s done so many things with Kyung and yet one conversation can make him flame red, still; he guesses it’s just a testament to the effect Kyung still has on him. 

He stays there for a moment longer before getting up, picking up his phone and heading to the basin to shave somewhat sleepily, accidentally nicking himself on the chin on the process. His bruises have all faded now, and his ankle has nearly completely healed – but his ribs will take some time. Not that it really matters, since he isn’t going to be doing any fighting, or killing, any time soon – and the danger has passed.

He pads to the front door and unlocks it, sending off a text to Kyung as he walks back to bed – _front door’s unlocked. Let yourself in. I’m going back to bed_ , accompanied with a heart emoji – before collapsing into it and drawing the sheets over his head, falling asleep nearly instantly.

This time, he doesn’t dream at all.

//

He spends all morning texting various coursemates, and then done the scariest thing he’s ever done in his life: call his parents after several weeks of non-contact.

And, well… at least Kyung’s still alive with a low probability of getting flayed any time soon.

So to say that he’s exhausted by the time he reaches Jiho’s place is an understatement. Armed with his laptop and some take-out he’d purchased from nearby Jiho’s place, he enters the deadly silent apartment with his breath held. It’s too quiet, and while he’s aware that Jiho’s _sleeping_ , the silence is _deafening_ in a way that made his skin crawl.

 _It’s nothing_ , he tells himself firmly as he toes off his shoes and sets his things down by the coffee table, but it really takes seeing Jiho asleep for Kyung’s nerves to calm down. He freezes at the door and just watches Jiho, for a second, thinking about the last time they’d both slept on this bed together and feeling a stupid sense of loss. So he carefully climbs into the space next to Jiho—he’s done this enough times that he knows how, even asleep, Jiho would react—and picks up his arm to wrap it around himself, content with just listening to him breathe easy.

//

Jiho swims back from consciousness slowly and realises there’s someone in bed with him. He’s just about to panic and leap up – his fingers are already curling around the knife under his pillow – when he realises it’s _Kyung_ , and rolls over, surprised to see Kyung watching him.

Damn. Kyung’s expression is so soft, so full of love, almost reverent that he feels himself blushing under the weight of it. He doesn’t know what to do with all that love (that he’s still unsure if he even deserves) so he just reaches and touches Kyung on the face, making sure he’s still here, that he’s still alive. And he is, he’s warm and real under Jiho’s fingers like he’s always been, so he just grins sleepily and shuffles a little closer. “Hey, you,” he breathes. “I missed you.”

//

Jiho looks at Kyung like he doesn’t think he’s real and that makes Kyung’s breath stutter in his chest, makes him grin back just as shyly at Jiho, as stupid as that feels. Gripping onto Jiho’s hand on his cheek, Kyung presses a lingering kiss on his palm, working his way down to his wrist, to his forearm, over his tattoo and onto his bicep, all the way up to Jiho’s shoulder and to his destination all along: Jiho’s lips. The last time they’d been here, Jiho had been blonde and Kyung had buried himself in Jiho’s sheets and thought that he’d been at the center of it all when he’d barely grazed the tip of the iceberg.

And now Kyung knows that Jiho has a knife under his pillow right this second.

“Yeah?” Kyung asks, grinning teasingly as he loops an arm around Jiho’s waist to splay his palm flat against the small of his back. “We only saw each other yesterday, you know. Try being a little less into me.” 

//

“Nice try,” Jiho mutters, kissing Kyung again simply because he _can_. “Too late for that now. You should have told me to fuck off after that changing room. Although even then might have been too late…” he lets his sentence trail off to kiss Kyung on the forehead, still sleepy.

It feels weird to be here again in his apartment, like nothing’s changed; the last time they were like this everything was different and he was still a liar, his deception eating away at his heart. Part of him still wishes he could go back to that time, because back then he’d like to think he’d have the strength to walk away from Kyung and prevent his life from changing irreparably; this is something that will walk with them for the rest of their lives, and it’s his burden alone, not Kyung’s. But he doesn’t have the power to wind back the clock and there’s no point reminiscing over what _could_ have been, because he’s here and he’s alive and he’s got Kyung and at the end of the day that’s all that really matters.

“Ready to go apartment shopping?” he asks quietly.

//

“I brought some takeout. And maybe—” Kyung glances over Jiho’s bare chest appreciatively, even _with_ the bruising still evident over his ribs “—put on a shirt so you don’t give the property people a heart attack?” He turns his cheek up for one last kiss before reluctantly clambering out of bed and straightening his sweater. It could be so easy to spend eternity under the covers, blanketed in darkness with only Jiho. But this isn’t what he’d been holding onto for so long; he’d been the one who asked Jiho for his life back, too.

“And _not_ the ugly one,” Kyung calls over his shoulder as exits the room to unpack his food. He’s gone apartment hunting with his friends enough times to know that first impressions make a big difference, although he supposes that Jiho, being presumably unbelievably loaded, was not quite the same from his friends, who were poor and struggling to get by with multiple jobs. With enough cash, Jiho could probably turn up looking like he was part of the circus and they wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

//

JIho grins at Kyung’s retreating back, before hauling himself out of bed and walking over to his wardrobe. He pulls on his staple black shirt, of which he probably has a million, before digging around in the back of the drawer for the sweater he’d stashed there a few months ago now. He pulls it out and brings it to his face, inhaling – he hadn’t washed it after that day and it still kinda smells like Kyung a little bit.

He pulls it over his head and pads out to the kitchen after Kyung, the takeout smell wafting throughout the place, drawing him in, making his stomach rumble. The side affect of sleeping for 24 hours straight is, of course, not eating for 24 hours. Still, he spreads his arms wide and spins for Kyung, gesturing to himself theatrically. “Like it?”

It’s the baby blue sweater that Kyung had given him the first day he’d met, the one with the yellow Lamborghini Diablo on the front. He hadn’t worn it since, but he hadn’t forgotten about it, and he grins as Kyung looks up, his eyes going wide.

//

Kyung manages to stop himself from sputtering all over Jiho’s counter only because of the hand he slaps over his mouth. “Jesus,” he groans, taking a drink of water as he washes his hand. “You kept it?”

It’s a stupid question, but then it’d been a stupid situation—two strangers dancing around each other, both unsure but irreversibly magnetised. Kyung wants to joke and say _I can’t believe you took it, I could’ve been anyone_ , but he figures that that’s a moot point since he’s pretty much living out that particular trope. And anyway, what Kyung remembers most is the smile Jiho’d worn that day, with his arms wrapped around himself like he’d never seen a sweater in his life.

So Kyung beams, closes in on Jiho and locks his arms around Jiho’s neck as Kyung backs them both into the kitchen. “My favourite,” he adds, intentionally leaving it vague. If someone had asked him when the moment Kyung started falling for Jiho was, that was probably it, with several pivotal changes on the way. And if someone had asked him if he would like to go back in time and change everything right then… he wouldn’t.

//

Jiho kisses Kyung square on the mouth, thinking about the time he’d first done this, furious and heated in a change room. The only thing that’s changed since then is the circumstances; Kyung’s lips still make him feel slightly dizzy, sending a rush of blood to his head. He pulls Kyung closer and slides his arms around Kyung’s waist, marvelling at how this still feels like the first time. 

“I love you,” he whispers against Kyung’s lips, amazed at how much his life has changed in such a short space of time. “And I really want to do this all day, but I haven’t eaten in 24 hours.” 

At that he winks at Kyung and disentangles himself, making a beeline for the food that Kyung’s set out, sticking a spoon in the container of rice and shoving some in his mouth, moaning dramatically at how good it is.

//

“What would you do without me?” Kyung questions with a dramatic sigh, watching Jiho demolish his food like he didn’t need to chew to swallow. He ends up eating a few more bites of his own noodles before giving the rest of it to Jiho, claiming that he’s had enough breakfast to skip most of lunch, anyway. Which isn’t a lie—he’d stolen Jaehyo’s bagel from his takeaway bagel and coffee set and blamed it on 505. They’d probably have started getting into a raging argument if Jaehyo still wasn’t treating Kyung with kid gloves, complete with his constant squinty, doubtful glances. It looks like Jiho can’t come around for a long time yet. 

“What kind of place are you thinking of getting?” Kyung asks, slinging his bag back on when Jiho’s finished devouring enough food for a small family. He glances around this apartment and recalls thinking how impersonal it’d seemed, how _neat_ , so he really can’t tell what kind of living preferences Jiho would have for himself.

//

“Dunno,” Jiho mumbles around the last mouthful of food. “‘s why I brought you along. I only picked this place because it had a nice view.”

He puts the spoon down on the counter and sighs, feeling fuller than he’s ever been in his life. He needed it, though, so he smiles happily at Kyung, aware he probably has rice stuck in his teeth. “Something closer to the university, perhaps?” He’s being presumptuous, but at this point he doesn’t give a shit – and at least he isn’t fumbling and falling over his words like the last time this had been brought up.

//

If Kyung beams a little too widely at his comment, he's going to blame that on the fact that Jiho looks _absolutely ridiculous_ in his sweater. Now that they're actually leaving the apartment, and that Jiho has to walk around in public, and Kyung _knows_ , unlike the first time, that his general dress code is "funeral", it makes him snigger into his hand as they climb into the car. 

"I don't think anyone's gonna take you seriously," Kyung says, as he straps himself in and reminds himself to check his phone. It's something he realizes he had done constantly without noticing, until he was forced to deprive himself of contact from everyone he knows. Or, well, he'd tried to, anyway. It's not like he can forget how horribly that had all gone down, later. "There's an apartment by my school that has a pool. And… I mean, you liked the ocean so much, so…"

//

Jiho automatically reaches over to intertwine their fingers as he pulls out of his garage, contemplating. “That’s a good idea. Where’s the real estate agent at?” 

Kyung googles the address and Jiho plugs it into the GPS, taking care to drive as sedately as he can manage because he knows Kyung is convinced he’s going to die every time he gets into the car with him. “As for them taking me seriously…” he trails off as they pull up to a set of lights, kissing Kyung’s knuckles delicately. “I could walk in there naked and they wouldn’t care just so long as I had the money.” 

//

“Don’t,” Kyung says, trying not to look _too_ dopey as he watches Jiho kiss his knuckles with a tenderness that makes his stomach flip, “ _I’m_ the only one who’s allowed to see you naked.” The unbidden image of M with his hand in Jiho’s hair hits him then and he realizes how _wrong_ he is, the sudden wave of jealousy he’d thought he’d purged during their week of laying low returning somewhat tauntingly. Quickly backpedalling, he brushes his knuckles against Jiho’s cheeks and amps up his grin, “It’s not like you can just throw money at them anyway, this isn’t a stripper joint.”

To prove his point, he throws the door wide open and gestures at the dingy property agent shop, with its glass exterior plastered with a million coloured paper notices. This doesn’t really look like the kind of place that would sell something like Jiho’s current apartment, but it’s the first that had popped out on google, so Kyung steps out of the car as he adjusts his bag, squinting a little in the bright sunlight.


	19. Chapter 19

Jiho cocks his head doubtfully at the real estate agency that Kyung’s directed him to – it’s a little more dingy than the one he’d used last time – but he shrugs and takes Kyung’s hand, dragging him inside. The agent raises an eyebrow at their held hands, but says she’s got a few apartments nearby that fit the bill – and then they’re all cramming into her tiny little company car.

The first place is too small and Jiho dismisses it almost instantly, catching Kyung’s puzzled glances out of the corner of his eye. The second place’s location is crap (this, again, earns him a weird look from Kyung), and then it’s back into the company car on the way to the third place. At this point he’s making polite conversation with the real estate agent in the rear view mirror while his hand is creeping up Kyung’s thigh; it’s almost worth it to hear the way his breath hitches in his throat. But then they’re spilling out into the third apartment – the one that Kyung had mentioned, that had a pool – and Jiho’s turning on the spot in the middle of the lounge room, looking around at it and thinking, both Kyung and the real estate agent boring a hole in the back of his head. 

// 

Kyung can tell that the agent’s getting increasingly antsy with each location Jiho rejects with a firm _no_. The glaringly lurid sweater certainly doesn’t help; the presence and prestige his car had given him was tapering away quickly. So Kyung grins at her as placatingly as he can, given that his own patience was running thin as well, and tells her that they need to have a private discussion.

“Okay,” Kyung says, the moment she slips out of the room, her eyebrows drawn together with the worry of a woman who’d spent her afternoon entertaining two madmen. “What’s wrong with the first place? I mean, it didn’t have a view… and it certainly isn’t batcave enough to go with your _car_ —” Kyung had been running through all the reasons he could possibly conjure—starting with the potentiality for an easy home invasion—because by Kyung’s standards, every one they’d been to were perfectly acceptable.

// 

Jiho takes the opportunity to swoop on Kyung, pulling him in for a kiss that ends up becoming a little deeper than he’d intended. “Dunno,” he replies, pulling back slightly breathlessly. “It wasn’t right. Didn’t feel right. This place is good, though.”

Kyung just looks up at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes. “I can’t explain it! It was pretty poorly designed in terms of defense. And it just didn’t _feel_ right.”

He’s not lying about this place, though. It’s not as big as his current place, but not as small as the first one, and the layout of it is enough to put him at ease that it’s defensible enough. Most of all, though, he can picture them here: moving boxes in, waking up in the bedroom, cooking in the kitchen; he can picture them starting a life here, and it’s intoxicating, and he _wants_ it with a sudden fierceness that surprises him. “But this place is right.”

//

Kyung’s about to protest again but the Jiho’s sudden assessment of the place has him shutting his mouth immediately. “Really?” Kyung asks disbelievingly, glancing around the room again. He doesn’t know what Jiho sees here that he doesn’t see in the other two flats, but that one moment where Jiho’s expression glazed over tells Kyung that he doesn’t need to know as long as Jiho’s content, whatever the hell his criterion may be. “ _Really_ really?”

And then he’s backing Jiho up slowly until Kyung has him against the kitchen island, his hands bracketing Jiho’s hips, planted firmly against the edge of the counter. “There’s no view, though,” Kyung points out, because high as the apartment may be, it overlooked only the bright blue pool and Kyung’s shitty neighbourhood. But he presses himself up against Jiho before he can answer, kissing him slowly but firmly, thinking about how this was, in a way, a new beginning for Jiho. A new beginning for them.

Jiho’s arms close around him and Kyung smirks when Jiho palms his ass, his hand warm even through the layer of Kyung’s pants. It’s not until they hear the agent clearing her throat that Kyung practically leaps away from Jiho—if Jiho really wanted this apartment, then her catching them making out could only jeopardize their chances.

“Sorry,” he apologises, experiencing a sudden sense of deja vu (Jiho, flushed and laughing, whispering a playful, “Just follow my lead,” and then gripping onto Kyung’s hand and dashing), “we were, uh, checking the counter. What material is that? Marble?”

// 

“Formica,” she replies, and Jiho can see that her lips are quirked up with amusement. 

Before she has a chance to say anything else, though, Jiho speaks up. “I’ll take it.”

Kyung and the real estate agent both blink at him in surprise, but he reaches for Kyung’s hand and does his best to dazzle them with a smile. “When can I close?” 

They all cram into the company car and head back to her office, Jiho this time shamelessly playing footsie with Kyung, the real estate agent considerably brighter at the fact she’s closed a deal today. Without hesitation, when they get back to the office, Jiho puts down a deposit and signs the deed, walking out of the office an hour later with a new apartment.

He kisses Kyung, right there on the fucking footpath, not giving a shit who sees because his heart is _soaring_ with the knowledge that this apartment isn’t just an apartment, it’s the start of a new life together - a life untainted by the Organisation, a life untainted by the violence and death that’s plagued him for so long. He might not know where he’s going next, but he’s starting to think that that’s okay, as long as he’s got Kyung.

“What do you want to do now?” he whispers, his hands settling on Kyung’s hips.

//

“I think you’re supposed to celebrate after you buy a new place,” Kyung replies, unable to help himself mirroring Jiho’s ecstatic expression. He thinks, not for the first nor remotely near the last time, about how easy it would be to just forget the rest of the world exists and lose himself in Jiho.   
  
“Dinner, champagne,” Kyung adds, sliding his hands into Jiho’s back pockets, leaning up against him with a smirk, “and a whole lot of fucking.” He figures he can lose just one more weekend. Just one more weekend where it’s just the two of them, where Kyung doesn’t have to think about what comes next. It’s selfish, he knows, but it’s hard to consider anything else when Jiho has his lips wrapped around Kyung’s cock, when Jiho sticks his sketchbook on Kyung’s chest and starts drawing him, right then and there, and even when they both wake up from a nightmare and Kyung ends up putting a movie on—Jiho’s first viewing of Star Wars, as it turns out—and Jiho’s head quietly finds its home in the curve of Kyung’s neck.   
  
It makes going back to real life the subsequent week all the harder because Kyung has to try doubly as hard to pretend that nothing is wrong. It’s a paradox, really: the harder he tries, the more his friends look at him oddly. It’s how he ends up agreeing to turn up to Mino’s end-of-semester party (“But our finals aren’t even _here yet_ ,” Kyung protests, to which Jaehyo shrugs) because the Kyung of the past would’ve gone, because turning down these things in lieu of staying somewhere _quiet_ and _safe_ didn’t make sense to anyone but him.   
  
“Bring Jiho along,” Taeil tells him distractedly, peering into his fish tank with the care and fascination someone would put towards a scientific experiment. Kyung chokes on the water he’s drinking and nearly drops his glass on his laptop.   
  
“ _W_ _hat?_ ”   
  
“Bring Jiho along,” Taeil says, glancing over at Kyung questioningly. “You guys are still a thing, right?”   
  
“… yeah, but—”   
  
“You can’t just keep him away from us and not expect us to worry,” Jaehyo points out agreeably. And Kyung knows they’re thinking of how he’d been that week after the Organisation first came for Jiho. It only serves to make him feel doubly as guilty—these were the two people he was closest to in the whole godamn universe, and they don’t know that Kyung’s whole life had changed.   
  
So, after repeatedly forcing both Jaehyo and Taeil to promise that they weren’t going to do something stupid like act like Kyung needed their permission to date someone, it’s with a sense of trepidation that Kyung invites Jiho over. _Come after eleven_ , he texts, because that’s when people were less likely to be interrogative and more likely to be drunk.   
  
He spends the whole night with a cup of beer in his hand, fielding inquisitive looks from Jaehyo who sticks to his side like some kind of barnacle. Eventually, Kyung slips away and takes to sitting cross-legged out on the steps to wait for Jiho. He wants to leave, honestly; it isn’t as though the party isn’t _fun_ , but Kyung’s tired from trying to catch up with three weeks of work simultaneously.

//

Jiho spends an absurd amount of time getting ready for the damn party, and not _least_ because he’s never been to a uni party before. He eventually settles on a black shirt and black jeans, because old habits die hard – and throws his huge winter coat over the top of it. There’s a desperate chill in the air and he knows it’s going snow soon, which makes his life harder; his car doesn’t cope well with ice and snow.

He’s spent the past week packing and moving slowly, deliberately drawing it out. He’d hired removalists to help him with his furniture (he still doesn’t have much, even after he’d raided garage sales before Kyung’d come over to his apartment that first time) but he’d had to hire a van to transport his weapons there, not trusting anyone but himself. Kyung had insisted on helping some, but eventually Jiho had banned him _(‘let me help,’_ he’d text, to which Jiho would reply _‘do your homework and you can’_... But Kyung had three weeks of homework to catch up on, so it was a moot point) and did it himself.  

Then he’d found himself alone in his barely furnished apartment, with absolutely fuck all to do. Day drinking and going out and getting so high he can’t remember his own name has no appeal to him now that he has Kyung; he does end up going clubbing most nights though just for something to _do_. He’s bored and restless and finds himself sleeping more than normal just because it’s not boring. So when Kyung’d invited him to the uni party, he’d jumped at the chance.

He pulls up in the parking lot of Kyung’s dorm, feeling rather grim as he remembers what had happened the _last_ time he’d been here. But this is different; this is Kyung sitting on the steps, shivering slightly with a cup in his hand, his face lighting up when he sees Jiho.

Jiho crosses the parking lot in a matter of strides, leaning down and kissing Kyung, sighing happily as he realises how much he’s missed it and how quickly he’s become codependent on him.

“Hello,” he breathes, a little shyly.

//

Kyung doesn’t realize how cold he is until he stands up to draw Jiho into a hug… and then doesn’t let go, arms locking around Jiho’s waist inside his coat. There’s also the fact that Kyung’s slightly tipsy; he hadn’t kept count of how many drinks he’d gone through because people he knew just kept _handing_ them to him. That, coupled with the fact that he hadn’t slept properly in a while, probably meant that he looked like a right mess.

“Holy _shit_ you’re warm,” Kyung comments against the base of Jiho’s throat, inhaling deeply. He wonders if each time they meet is always going to be like the first time. Not the bit where Jiho’d almost punched Kyung in the throat, of course, but the swell of warm affection, like the sun shining on a cold day. “Sorry for dragging you out so late. They, uh, they said they wanted to meet you.” 

Taeil had been singing dramatically into Mino’s karaoke machine the last time Kyung’d saw him, with the stipulation that he had to take a shot every time his voice cracked on a high note. Jaehyo had been otherwise occupied when Yukwon arrived, looking both scared but amused. So maybe Kyung can get away with leading Jiho to their room instead, because as it is, Jiho’s looking a little too good to pass up.

He shakes himself clear of that stray thought and takes Jiho’s hand instead, saying, “C’mon, let’s go in.” He’s never going to live it down if they don’t see Jiho, and it’s getting frustrating that they still think that Jiho is going to break Kyung’s heart.

//

“Sure,” Jiho replies, squeezing Kyung’s hand gently as they head back up the stairs and inside, the liquid in Kyung’s cup sloshing dangerously.

 He’s incredibly nervous about seeing Taeil and Jaehyo again, simply because he doesn’t know how they’re going to react. He can’t even begin to comprehend, really, because he doesn’t _have_ friends – let alone a friend that’s been through what appears to be a messy breakup. He feels vulnerable and exposed, and not just because he doesn’t have any weapons on him, either. But Kyung tugs him resolutely forward to a room in a different part of the dorm, swinging the door open widely.

Jiho takes in everything instantly – Jaehyo and Yukwon sitting _very_ close to each other on the couch, Taeil holding the mic of a karaoke machine and downing a shot, and a whole bunch of unfamiliar strangers wandering around the place, pouring drinks or eating or shouting to each other over the music. Jiho freezes, anxiety suddenly seizing him, as both Taeil and Jaehyo spot him at the same time. 

//

Kyung can tell from the sudden way Jiho stiffens that he’s nervous. If Kyung’s being honest, he’s nervous too, but it doesn’t make sense to have them both shit themselves. 

“Let’s get a drink,” Kyung tells Jiho, drawing him closer to the table by the corner of the room. He staunchly ignores the way that Taeil abruptly stops singing, and the way Jaehyo disentangles himself from Yukwon to convene with Taeil, ignores the way that his stomach flips because he doesn’t know how to tell them that he’s _fine_ (for a given definition of the word) and even if he isn’t, his gripe isn’t with Jiho. That Jiho had saved his life on multiple occasions. That Kyung had—okay, no, that was delving a little too far into territory that Kyung doesn’t want to think about even when he’s wasted, so he grabs one of the beer cups and shoves it in Jiho’s hand.

Which is his first mistake, apparently, because Jiho squeezes the cup until it can barely retain its structural integrity. It doesn’t help that Taeil approaches them with Jaehyo tailing behind, the both of them wearing twin looks of doubt.

“Guys,” Kyung says warningly, the second they approach, because a drunk Taeil is a trigger happy Taeil. And it’s not Jiho that Kyung’s worried for, anyway. Kyung still dreams of that version of Jiho from his apartment, the one that Kyung looks at and can’t figure out, no matter how hard he tries.

“We’re not,” Jaehyo says, though Taeil remains steely and silent as Jaehyo fishes around in his pocket. “We just wanted to return you this.” And then he’s pulling out a fistful of crumpled money, smoothing them out before he shoves them in Jiho’s direction. “For that day, at the aquarium. Figured that if you wanted to dump Kyung again, we should keep things clean between us, you know?”

Kyung makes a choked sound as Jiho takes the money, looking completely unsure of himself. Jaehyo’s using the same tone he does whenever he defuses a tense situation, which is to say, placatingly condescending.

“He’s _not_ gonna,” Kyung tries to defend, but he knows what they’re thinking: Jiho owns a fast car and too much cash and from their point of view, splurges a little too freely to be a proper person. Pair that up with the wreck Kyung’d been just weeks earlier, enough to push him into a self-declared holiday? Yeah, it doesn’t look good. “I told you—” Kyung doesn’t get to explain because the next thing he knows, Taeil’s twisting back, sending his fist flying in the air to connect with Jiho’s jaw.

// 

Jiho sees the fist coming and instead of ducking, or feinting, or blocking the blow – he closes his eyes and lets it connect, feeling it reverberate through his whole body. His head snaps around and he tips backwards, hitting the floor with a thud, the wind being knocked out of him, setting his ribs to hurting again.

Kyung’s standing there aghast and frozen as Jiho rubs his jaw and winces, looking up at Taeil – who’s standing over him, fists raised, a challenging expression on his face. Jiho just looks away and clambers to his feet, ignoring the way he can’t take a deep breath, now, and doesn’t look at any of them as he walks away, hearing chaos erupt behind him.

He retraces his steps sluggishly, clicking his jaw over and over, his arms wrapped around himself. The blow hurts, yeah, but he’s no stranger to getting punched in the face. He’ll heal. What had hurt more was the coldness in their eyes, the way Jaehyo had looked at him like he was shit on the bottom of his shoe, the way Taeil had scowled. He hadn’t known them very well, but now he feels he’s blown any chance of knowing them better. For the first time it really occurs to him the consequences of his actions; not for Kyung (he’d agonised over those for hours on end) but for everyone around him, his friends and family.

The frigid air is like a slap on his warm face, and he sheds his jacket at the top of the stairs, dropping it on the floor before sitting on it heavily, turning his face towards the moon and just breathing, just existing. Here, alone, the hurt is so easy to feel; it wreaths him, drawing him in like a familiar lover’s embrace, and he welcomes it. He’s no stranger to being alone, but rejection hurts most of all.

//

“That wasn’t the plan. _At all_ ,” Jaehyo says, looking just as stupefied as Kyung feels, the second Jiho sweeps out of the room. Behind them, Kyung can hear the faint cheering of several party-goers who’d been watching, always ready and raring for a good show.

“I figured I might as well get it in,” Taeil says, shaking his hand off as he snatches Kyung’s beer from his grasp—which is just as well, because Kyung was going to drop it at any given moment—and downing it all at one go. “You can thank me later.” His last line is addressed to Kyung, and Kyung feels a dam break and his anger rises, rendering his judgment faulty.  

“Thank you for _what?”_ Kyung demands, shooting Jaehyo a look when he tries to wedge between them to stop the fight from erupting. Jaehyo quells immediately, fluttering nervously between the two of them as Taeil says, “He fucked you over, in case you were too far in to realize.”

“Taeil, come on,” Jaehyo starts, but Kyung can’t hear the rest of Jaehyo’s sentence over the angry roaring in his ears. Because the thing is this: Kyung can’t argue with that. Taeil’s right, from his point of view. And he’s right, from Kyung’s point of view. What was that Jiho had said back then? Easy. Kyung’s easy. And while that doesn’t hold the same connotation it did then, he can’t help but blame himself for letting things spin so fucking far out of control. That even though he’s _angry_ and he wants to lash out at Taeil for thinking that Kyung’s too godamn weak to stand on his own two feet, he can’t. At the end of the day, he’s right.

“Don’t,” he tells Jaehyo the second he opens his mouth. “I hope you’ve gotten what you want. Because you’re certainly not doing this for _me_.” He’s going to regret saying this later, he just knows it, but he spins away from them both—and from Yukwon, who’d gotten up to watch them nervously—and leaves the room. He should look for Jiho, he _should_ , but his feet don’t seem to want to move the second he’s in the corridor. It’s one thing to be on the move and try to stay alive, it’s another thing when he’s faced with Jaehyo looking at him like Kyung’s gonna blow up at any given moment. As it turns out, running away is the easy part. It’s that that tempts Kyung to return to his room to pull the covers over his head and wonder exactly _when_ his life had gotten more complicated than abstract algebra.

 _You’re not the one who got punched_ , Kyung tells himself, scrubbing a hand down his face, inhaling sharply to get himself to think straight, then makes his way out of the building, figuring that there’s the only place Jiho would go. He’s right—there Jiho stands, a lone silhouette against the greenery of the lawn. He looks so dauntingly solitary that Kyung feels nervous to approach him, that somehow, even after all they’ve been through, Jiho’s going to look at him in the eye and say, _you know what? Maybe we’re not going to work out after all_. But he swallows as he picks up Jiho’s jacket from the steps and circles around him carefully, quietly. 

//

Jiho hears Kyung’s approach – hears the slap of his shoes on the concrete, the rustle of him picking up his jacket from the stairs, hears him crossing the grass to stop behind him, not approaching, his steps hesitant. That hurts, somewhat, like he’s scared to approach Jiho for one reason or the other; he closes his eyes as his lips tremble, trying desperately to hold in tears.

“I’m just going to go,” he murmurs, not turning around. “I think that would be best for everyone.”

That punch was a beacon as far as he was concerned: _stay away_. It’s only fair if he listens; Taeil and Jaehyo have known Kyung far longer than Jiho has, and if they want him away, that’s where he’ll go. Being cut off from Kyung’s friends hurts, it hurts more than he thought it would, but it’s nothing less than he deserves. The tears spill over at that and he bites his lip, hard, not wavering, not turning around. 

//

“I’ll come with,” Kyung finds himself saying before he can even process how Jiho sounds. It’d become an instinct—to follow Jiho first, then ask questions later, and it’s an instinct that’s gotten him back in one piece. He’ll just have to deal with Jaehyo and Taeil later, to condense and re-tell a story of three different murder scenes into something more public-friendly. 

“C’mon, it’s cold,” Kyung tells Jiho, as he circles around him, letting his mouth run the show, “and I know you get into fights for a living, but Taei—” Kyung freezes when he catches sight of Jiho’s tears. Somehow, it’s even worse when Kyung’s reminded of the fact that Jiho hadn’t even reacted like this when he’d essentially been broken in two separate places. And the worst part is Kyung doesn’t know what to say. Telling Jiho that Taeil _doesn’t mean it_ would just be an outright lie, because why else would Taeil have done it? “I’m sorry,” he ends up murmuring guiltily as he tugs Jiho into a loose hug, afraid that this isn’t what Jiho wants at the moment. There’s never quite been a third factor in all of their hiccups ( _M doesn’t count_ , Kyung tells himself), so he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “I shouldnt’ve asked you to come.”

//

“It’s okay,” Jiho replies, lifting his arm to pull Kyung closer, more on instinct than anything else. “You weren’t to know.” 

For the first time in a while he actually wants to be alone, wants to stew in this, but he knows Kyung won’t leave him when he’s crying so he just stands there for a moment, hugging Kyung with one hand dejectedly. He then turns and trudges towards his car, his footsteps heavy, the money they’d shoved at him burning a hole in his pocket in the worst way. He waits for Kyung to strap himself in before peeling out of the car park, driving like a dickhead because it makes him feel better.

The silence between them is stifling, but Jiho’s just exhausted and can’t be bothered trying to fix this, doesn’t want to make meaningful conversation – there’s nothing that either of them can say, so what’s the point? What he _really_ wants to do right now is go get high, which is weird, because he hasn’t been like that in a while. But it looks like neither of them are going to get what they want, so they complete the short drive back to his new apartment in silence, Jiho’s fingers clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel helplessly. 

//

It’s times like these that he wishes Jiho would lash out. Not angry and feral, like they’d both been at the farmhouse, but at least _something_ that doesn’t leave Kyung glancing between Jiho and the road, suddenly tongue-tied as he ignores the sporadic buzzing from his phone. It’s not that he doesn’t have anything to say—far from it, he wants to tell Jiho that it doesn’t matter, that they’ll come around some day, that there’s _no way_ they won’t come around, not when they’re doing this for the long run.

But he’s back to not knowing what Jiho’s thinking: is he upset because Taeil hit him? Is he upset because of the money? Is he upset that, after how hard they’ve fought to get back here, it’s Kyung’s friends’ who remain an obstacle? Kyung doesn’t fucking know, and it’s this not knowing that shuts him up completely.

It’s probably why the first words he says end up being, “Drive-through,” to which Jiho shoots him a puzzled look, as though he can’t be sure that he’s hearing Kyung right. “Drive-through, over there.” Kyung taps the glass at the sign of the golden arches just left of the next traffic light. He takes the opportunity when Jiho’s distractedly squinting into the distance to take Jiho’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Can we stop?”

//

“Sure,” he replies quietly, hanging a left a bit faster than strictly necessary and heading towards the drive thru window. “What do you want?”

Kyung leans over to study the menu through his window, and his proximity is alarming, so much so that Jiho gasps a little bit, leaning back as to give Kyung space. He’s still so churned up inside he doesn’t know _what_ to feel except sadness, and he _still_ wants to be alone. Kyung, though, is beautiful like this; shadows falling over one half of his face, all sharp angles and steep curves. Jiho reaches out to touch him automatically, tucking a lock of hair back into place, biting the inside of his cheek.

// 

Kyung tries not to let the hurt show when Jiho makes a sound as he leans across and pretends that it takes him _this_ long to order. In actuality, he’d always gotten the same damn thing because it was just easier on the person making the food run for them.

“Uh,” Kyung says, momentarily losing his train of thought when Jiho tucks his hair back, “um—” he glances over at the brightly lit menu and flounders, stupidly enough, though he’s going to blame that on the alcohol “—ice-cream?” It’s not the worst of things to choose; at least they’re in Jiho’s warm car. And the drive through is, apparently, the right choice to make, because Kyung bursts out laughing the second Jiho orders a happy meal.

“You never stop surprising me,” Kyung says, by way of explanation, before Jiho can jump to the wrong conclusion and this situation goes even further out of hand than Kyung can even reach. “It’s just—” he stops, picking at the holes in his jeans, hating that this is awkward when it shouldn’t be, that he doesn’t know the right words to say to instantly make Jiho feel better “—they don’t know what we’re like. They don’t understand why I think the sun shines out of your ass. But I’ll convince them.” He flashes Jiho a smile then, as genuine as it comes considering the circumstances. “You’ll see.”

//

As they roll to the next window, Jiho fishing in his pocket for his wallet, he just bites his tongue for a moment, because his first reaction is to laugh. How sad was Kyung in that fortnight, that awful period of time he barely remembers, that he deserved a punch in the face for it? He doesn’t want to think about it.

He pays for their food and gets the receipt before replying. “Yeah, okay, if you say so,” is all he manages, and it sounds weak even by his standards.

He can feel Kyung’s gaze on him, heavy and worried, but he just doesn’t have the energy to discuss it further, because he honestly doesn’t believe him. Kyung opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by their food being handed to them; Jiho puts the happy meal on his lap and hands Kyung his ice cream before driving forward. He swings the car around into a parking spot and turns the ignition off, diving into his happy meal and holding the toy up to the center console light.

“Look at this shit,” he mutters, managing a weak smile. “A fucking jigsaw puzzle. What a rip off.”

//

 _Don’t make this harder_ , Kyung wants to say, but ends up biting on his lip so he doesn’t exacerbate the situation. They’re supposed to be on one side, together, and now that Jiho seems to be drifting across an invisible line, Kyung… Kyung wants to thump his head against the dashboard. 

“You can put it together and frame it up on your wall,” Kyung says, sounding far too serious to be joking. This is, perhaps, the most tasteless ice-cream cone Kyung’s ever eaten in his life, but he forces himself to keep going as he covers Jiho’s hand with his own so he can turn the bag of approximately eight jigsaw pieces this way and that. “Don’t you know art when you see it?” 

He knows that this is him trying to make light of the situation, and at best, he’s only going to fail minimally. But Kyung doesn’t know what to do, not when Jiho doesn’t believe him. Kyung’s known Jaehyo and Taeil for his whole life, knows that the only thing that’s going to fix this situation is time for Jiho to prove them wrong. But it’s not like Kyung can say _just wait it out_. Short of telling them both the truth, Kyung’s stuck. 

//

Jiho decides to return to his old strategy of faking it til he makes it, so he grins at Kyung and rips the bag open with his teeth, exclaiming as the puzzle pieces explode everywhere into the car, a few falling into the passenger footwell between Kyung’s feet. He smiles lecherously and plants a hand on Kyung’s upper thigh as he leans over to get them, squeezing gently before pulling back, three pieces in his fist.

“I’ll frame it and give it to you for your birthday,” he replies around a nugget, spreading the pieces out on the dashboard above the steering wheel. “Here, help me find the others.” 

They dig around in all the nooks and crannies, eventually coming up with the rest of the pieces. Jiho assembles the puzzle to reveal a ridiculously cartoon drawing of a dinosaur; he looks between it and Kyung doubtfully, praying at least that his facade is paying off and that Kyung can’t see through him, can’t see that he’s still miserable. 

//

“I’ll be nice and let you keep it for yourself,” Kyung says, just a touch on the side of _too_ casual. This is ridiculous—Taeil’d just punched Jiho and here they were, assembling a godamn jigsaw puzzle courtesy of a happy meal. But if that’s what Jiho wants, then Kyung can suck it up and go right along with pretending. He’s getting pretty good at that; where he’d usually engage in a raging argument with his friends, he’s coming to understand just how much that same method doesn’t work here, with Jiho. Not back when they first met, and not even now.

Still, he reaches across to cup Jiho’s cheek gently, to run his thumb over Jiho’s jaw and finds himself thinking, with equal parts despair and fierceness, _tell me how to make this good for you_. It’s probably just Kyung’s imagination, but Jiho’s skin under his thumb is scalding hot, like Taeil’d left an imprint of his anger that won’t dissipate. It makes something sharp snarl in Kyung’s chest, and he has to swallow before he says, “Let’s go to yours and I’ll help you hang it.” 

// 

“Yeah, okay,” Jiho replies, upending his fries in his mouth and chewing them as he turns the car back on.

Kyung’s not stupid – he’s too perceptive for his own good, in fact – and Jiho knows things aren’t quite right between them, but again, he just doesn’t have the energy to argue about it. Because what is there to say? He deserved that punch, they _both_ know it. Accepting it doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.

They arrive at Jiho’s apartment in no time at all, Jiho heading straight for the lounge to flop down on it dramatically, wanting to sleep or drink or get high or dance or do _anything_ really – anything except this weird state of nothingness they’re in.

// 

It only hits Kyung, when Jiho throws himself down on the couch, that this is perhaps the most normal Kyung’d ever seen him react to anything ever—sullen and broody, like someone who’d been bested in a fight because he’d reined it in to take the high road. The thought makes Kyung want to laugh at the irony, but Kyung reminds himself that despite how tipsy he is, he’s supposed to exercise tact. So he bites his lip and takes the time to set Jiho’s coat aside and sheds his constricting skinny jeans before sitting cross-legged on the ground next to the couch.   
  
“Hey,” he says, throwing his arm across Jiho’s shoulder to card his fingers through his hair. He gets a distinct feeling that Jiho doesn’t want him here, somehow, that he wants to deal with this alone, and possibly kick the shit out of someone else. Kyung puts a pin on that thought—it’s probably something worth asking about when they weren’t actually _in_ this situation. But for now… “Wanna fuck?”

//

“Could you get any cruder?” Jiho grunts teasingly, shifting his head on the sofa so he can look at Kyung, who’s regarding him perfectly seriously. “If I must.”

He leans down to kiss Kyung, gently and chastely at first but soon deepening it, only breaking away to slide down so he’s sitting on Kyung’s lap, his fingers winding through Kyung’s hair, gasping as Kyung’s arms come around to hold him close. All the emotions that have been running through him since the punch coalesce into something tangible and real that has him leaning down and biting a line down Kyung’s neck, pulling his own shirt over his head and helping Kyung out of his, groaning at how warm Kyung is, the expanse of skin intoxicating him. He shifts a little, grinding his hips down onto Kyung’s cock, making him tip his head back against the sofa, his mouth falling open, and he looks so good that Jiho does it again and again, drunk on this feeling.

//

Kyung’s beginning to think that he’s going to end up cultivating a pavlovian reaction to sex; they may be shit at talking about their feelings, but this is the one thing they do best. And as Jiho slides automatically onto his lap and presses a line of biting kisses against his neck, he feels a little stupid for not having resorted to this earlier instead of going to a godamn drive-through.

Then Jiho rolls his hips down against Kyung’s cock and he moans, hands flying down to grip at Jiho’s hips. Already the clouds on Jiho's face are starting to clear, to be replaced by the familiar expression of lust that has Kyung smirking as he works to undo Jiho's jeans, a task made difficult because Jiho _won't stop_ grinding down against Kyung.

"Are these pants super-glued on?" Kyung demands, making a noise of triumph when he finally, _finally_ works them open, hand sliding in to palm Jiho's cock. He intends to draw this out as long as possible, until Jiho can work out all his frustrations, until Jiho can forget everything but Kyung.

//

 

“God,” Jiho gasps, tipping his head back as Kyung strokes slowly, not hurrying –  Jiho can tell, by the way he’s smirking, that he wants to draw this out. “You’re such a tease.” 

He arches up into Kyung’s touch, marvelling at how he still reacts like this, just the same as that day in the change room, completely in Kyung’s hands, literally and figuratively. He bucks his hips upward into Kyung’s hand, urging him to hurry up wordlessly, biting his lip and closing his eyes, forgetting everything except _this_ , except Kyung.

//

"Why, are you in a rush?" Kyung asks, deliberately using the most teasing tone possible. He spreads his other palm on the small of Jiho's back to pull him closer. It's not the hurried urgency they both had a tendency of falling into; instead, it's Kyung pressing lingering, open mouthed kisses down the front of Jiho's chest as he slowly jerks him off.

 They need a change of pace, anyway, both figuratively and literally, because they've crammed half a lifetime of adventures in less than a month, and now that they're both back, Kyung can tell that Jiho's struggling to adjust. Hell, even Kyung's struggling to adjust, and he's supposed to be the expert here, the one with experience.

His lips brush over Jiho's nipple and he pauses just then to look up at Jiho, already flushing, eyes slightly glazed over, and thinks that, yeah, infinity seems like a pretty daunting concept, but when it comes to Jiho, he doesn’t think he can settle for anything else. "Besides," Kyung adds, just to be infuriating, "we've got forever."

//

“Mmmm,” Jiho hums, looking down at Kyung. “Forever’s not long enough.”

And then he’s hooking his arms around Kyung’s shoulders and tipping backwards so he’s lying on his back, wrapping his legs around Kyung’s waist as he goes, so Kyung ends up hovering above him, one arm planted next to Jiho’s head. He loves the expression of surprise that crosses Kyung’s face, so he tugs him down for a kiss, smiling against his lips. He _hates_ how Kyung is taking his time, stroking languidly and slowly, making him writhe – because he’s all pent up, now, the emotions he’d pushed away earlier rearing their ugly head, insistent, making him dig his nails in a little to Kyung’s shoulders, wanting _more_.

//

“Really, on the _floor?_ ” Kyung asks, trying to sound appalled. But Jiho looks pretty splayed out against the rug. He’d taken pictures of it to send to Kyung when he’d first purchased it which really put things into perspective for Kyung as to just how dissociated Jiho’d been this entire time. After all, who gets excited buying a _rug?_ Kyung would rather spend time burning through his coursework than go furniture shopping, but then again, Jiho just isn’t anyone.

So Kyung tugs at Jiho’s pants, rolling over the side so he can pull it off carefully. Then he’s kissing the dip of Jiho’s collarbone and moving downwards carefully—out of habit for the time he’d spent circumnavigating Jiho’s ribs—lips skimming across Jiho’s warm skin, over his hip and down to his thigh. “Let’s up the stakes,” Kyung says, grinning up at Jiho as he stills his hand to kiss the tip of his cock. “You can’t come until I tell you to.” And then, without waiting for a reply, he sinks his mouth over Jiho’s length, cheeks hollowing as he bobs his head. 

//

Jiho gasps so violently that he nearly chokes, his hand flying down and curling in Kyung's hair, keeping him grounded. The words that Kyung’d said, combined with the way he’s now sucking Jiho’s cock with no abandon, have him squeezing his eyes shut, his head falling back onto the rug with a thud (the same rug that he’d bought at ikea, sending pictures of it to Kyung somewhat excitedly, silly and domestic as it was).

“Fuck,” he stammers. _“Fuck.”_

Just the thought of being at Kyung’s mercy entirely is thrilling, and it’s compounded by the sight of Kyung – looking up at him, his lips closed around Jiho’s cock. It’s a pornographic, erotic view, and it’s all Jiho can do to moan, his hand pushing Kyung’s head down a little, helpless.

//

 Kyung’s enthusiasm is only bolstered by how Jiho looks when they make eye contact, almost as though he can’t stand the sight of Kyung sucking him off like this. His hand twists in Kyung’s hair and Kyung moans more wantonly than strictly necessary, just to enjoy the way Jiho’s stomach tenses under Kyung’s flat palm as he groans, hips lifting almost involuntarily. Kyung takes pity on him, for a while, lets Jiho set the pace with each tug of his hair, but then he’s drawing upwards to curl his fingers tightly over the base of Jiho’s length. He uses his mouth to create a vacuum over the head of Jiho’s cock as he jerks him off shortly in Kyung’s too-slick grip. 

Almost automatically, Jiho moans, his hand tightening and loosening in Kyung’s hair, like he doesn’t want to hurt Kyung, but he can’t help himself anyway. So Kyung pulls up with an obscene pop of his lips, letting go of Jiho’s cock only to trace the underside of it with his tongue teasingly, repeatedly, resisting the urge to reach down and stroke himself at the sight of Jiho coming undone like this.

// 

Jiho feels himself losing it, walking that ragged line, creeping ever-closer towards orgasm – but then Kyung pulls back to flatten his tongue on the underside of Jiho’s dick, tracing lines, and he gasps and whines with the unfairness of it all.

“Kyung,” he starts, but then realises he’s whispering, hoarse, so he tries again. “Kyung – god, fuck. Please…” he trails off, watching Kyung watching him wordlessly, his eyes crinkling up at the corners in the way they do when he smiles. “Please, please.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for – not really. To come? Yes, but more than that – he wants Kyung to stop drawing this out, stop _teasing_ him – because it’s too much, and his fingers clench in Kyung’s hair as he closes his eyes.

//

Kyung lets Jiho’s pleas wash over him as he kisses a line up his hip, feeling more than seeing Jiho’s thighs tense and relax as his hips buck up uselessly into the air. It’s not that he wants to draw this out—okay, he does, but he’s not _this_ cruel—but he isn’t used to seeing Jiho like this. Even when he’d bruised his ribs, he’d insisted that he was alright, so hearing him _plead_ makes Kyung’s blood sing, makes him swallow as he bites down on the inside of his cheek, reaching for Jiho’s cock again. If he’s being honest with himself, then he feels vindicated, too, that he’d proved M wrong, that he gets to see this needy side of Jiho, too, that he’s—  

He shakes that line of thought and focuses on the present. Gently taking Jiho’s hand from his hair to kiss his palm, Kyung then sucks on one of Jiho’s fingers, then two, making sure to keep eye contact the entire time as he lazily strokes Jiho’s cock with enough contact to make him whine and buck, but not enough for him to come. “Can you fuck me before you come?” Kyung asks, trying to sound teasing but realizing that he, too, sounds about as hoarse as Jiho does. 

//

Yeah, okay, Kyung sucking his fingers is probably the most blatantly pornographic thing Jiho’s ever seen, and it makes his toes curl, gasping as Kyung strokes him lazily. “Probably,” he manages to gasp, not caring that he’s hoarse and desperate. “Just – god, fucking let me fuck you.”

Kyung looks at him, eyebrow raised, and he whines indignantly. “Please, fuck. Please.” 

He knows Kyung likes the sound of him begging, wanting _more_ , and realises they’ve never done it like this before – it’s always been hurried, like they can’t wait to get enough of each other. Which isn’t exactly a lie, but this is different; Kyung’s drawing this out for as long as he can, making Jiho _beg_ – and he hasn’t begged like this before, not for Kyung, at least. So he just thrusts into Kyung’s hand helplessly, trying to show just how fucking desperate he is, desperate for Kyung. 

//

Kyung gulps and curses under his breath as he gets up, Jiho’s eyes tracking his every move in a way that seemed almost desperate. _Is_ desperate, and Kyung has to go get the condom _now_ , if not for Jiho, then for the sake of his own sanity. He can’t remember if he keeps any in his wallet, but he checks anyway, grappling for his pants with his spit slick hands. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad in his life as when he catches sight of the glinting foil. By the time he returns to Jiho again—Kyung doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget this sight in his life: Jiho with one hand fisted in the rug, the other fluttering almost unsurely over his stomach, like he wants to touch himself but _can’t_.   
  
Kyung’s throat goes dry as he sinks down over Jiho’s stomach, thighs bracketing his hips. He plants a hand on Jiho’s chest as he works himself open without any sort of finesse to it at all; no more teasing, no more dragging it out, he just wants Jiho in him. And he’s vaguely aware of the irony that it was him who’d wanted to draw it out, at first, but it’s him who’s bent over panting over Jiho now, with Jiho’s hand touching his cheek, his hair, running hotly over his thighs and skimming over his cock that has Kyung twisting his own hand even faster.   
  
It doesn’t take him much longer before he’s aligning himself to Jiho, biting down hard on his lip as he slowly lowers himself, unable to help the gasp that escapes him once Jiho’s fully-seated.

//

“God,” Jiho gasps. “You’re so fucking hot.”

And Kyung is – his head thrown back, exposing the pale line of his throat, his back arched and his hands splayed on Jiho’s chest. Jiho realises that he wants to draw Kyung like this, crude as it is, because _fuck –_ when he looks like this (his lips slightly parted, exposing the pink of his tongue; his hair mussed and falling over his forehead from where Jiho had been running his hands through it earlier; his eyes fluttering shut) Jiho just can’t help himself –

But then Kyung starts moving, slowly at first but slowly picking up the pace, fucking himself on Jiho’s cock – and all thoughts of anything but the feeling of Kyung fly away. Even like this, Jiho’s still helpless to set the pace – which is probably a good thing, because if he had it his way he would roll Kyung over and fuck him so hard that he would meld into the floor. As it is, all he can do is grip Kyung’s thigh with one hand, the other skittering down his belly to grasp his cock, the both of them moaning in sync, because Kyung is so _hot_ and so _tight_ that Jiho closes his eyes, unable to stand the sight of it anymore.

“Jesus Christ, Kyung,” he whispers a little hoarsely. “Fucking hell. You’re too good at this.”

// 

Kyung’s retort dies in his throat—“Tell me something I don’t know?”—when Jiho grips his dick and, yeah, Kyung’s pretty sure he’s going to die; he’s going to combust on the spot and this is going to be his legacy. He let’s out something that sounds like a cross between _Jiho_ and _shit_ and it ends up sounding like a strangled moan instead. Doubling over, he undulates his hips over Jiho’s cock as fast as he can in this new position, gripping tightly enough onto Jiho’s biceps that he knows he’s going to leave marks.

“Jiho,” he finally gasps, and Jiho’s eyes snap open right as Kyung tilts his head to kiss him, fiercely and hungry with _want_ , with the full knowledge that he’s never going to feel this way about someone else in his life again, he’s sure of it. “Jiho, c’mon.”  

Lifting his free hand, he cups Jiho’s jaw gently to brush his thumb across it, a stark contrast from how fast he’s starting to fuck himself down against Jiho’s cock. He knows that he won’t last much longer, and he looks the part too—arms taut from holding himself up, trembling just slightly as he moans and whines shamelessly against Jiho’s lips. 

//

 The contrast of Kyung’s soft, sensual touch on his face and the way he’s fucking himself fast and hard on Jiho’s cock nearly sends him over the edge – but what does it is Kyung curling his hand in Jiho’s hair and biting down on his lip. 

“Kyung – gonna – ” is all he manages to gasp out, but then his orgasm hits him and all he can do is groan into Kyung’s open mouth, his nails digging into Kyung’s thigh, his hand tightening on Kyung’s cock.

“Fuck,” he stutters, his hips stuttering up uselessly, his hand speeding up as he jerks Kyung off, desperate for him to come too. “Come on.”

Kyung closes his eyes, and Jiho kisses him hungrily, reaching up to tug at Kyung’s hair. He vaguely realises that they were meant to be drawing this out and yet here they are, pawing at each other with a heavy desperation like always; perhaps their passion will never die down and they’ll always end up like this. Not that he cares, though, as Kyung tenses over him, his chest beginning to flush. “Come on,” he whispers again, letting the need in his voice ring through, trying to show just how much he wants to see this.

//

Kyung stills when Jiho picks up his pace—his thighs seemed to have turned into fucking jelly, and it’s just as well, because it seems like he’s going to mold himself around Jiho at any given moment. He gasps when Jiho tugs sharply at his hair, eyes squeezing shut as his toes curl tightly. He barely has the presence of mind to plant a hand over Jiho’s hammering heart to put himself on display. For a moment, that’s all there is—Jiho’s hand working over his cock as Kyung pants and gasps, letting himself revel in the sound of Jiho’s voice.

He comes with an almost too-quiet groan of Jiho’s name, breathing heavily as he slumps over Jiho, cheek pressing against his damp chest. On the ground and wedged between the couch on and the coffee table, it feels like Kyung’d never made it home at all. And sometimes he wonders if that should have been it, if he should’ve asked Jiho to go on the run forever. It’s this thought—and Jiho’s hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back—that has him pushing himself up to lift himself from Jiho’s dick to collapse next to Jiho instead.

“So much for a new rug,” Kyung comments dismally, teasingly, running his hand through his hair. “You can’t return it to the store any more.”

//

Jiho ties a knot in the condom and puts it to one side before rolling onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow and splaying his hand on Kyung’s ribs. He pulls Kyung in for a quick, soft kiss, before smiling salaciously and waggling his eyebrows. “Yeah? Pity. I hated it.”

Kyung smiles, and Jiho wants to watch him smile over and over again, so he digs his fingers into Kyung’s ribs, making him jump, and snorts. “I think we could probably christen every surface in this place. Void _every_ warranty.”  

He scoots a little closer, so he can feel Kyung’s body heat radiating off him, and drums his fingers in a line up Kyung’s ribs to press over his heart, feel the steady, slow beat, thrumming underneath his fingertips. It’s just another reminder of how solid and real Kyung is; not for the first time, Jiho wonders how the fuck he got here. Not that he’s complaining. 

// 

“Asshole,” Kyung mutters under his breath, trying to suppress as a smile as he makes a big show out of Jiho’s jab to his ribs, squirming away until he’s pressed up against the—unfortunately for him, _cold_ —legs of the coffee table. “Try finding someone else to do that with you.”

He acquiesces when Jiho tugs him closer despite how sweaty they’ve both become, lets Jiho dance his fingers across Kyung’s ribs like he’s fascinated that Kyung’s made of skin and bones. And he wonders, when Jiho sees him, does he see an amalgamation of fragility that he can easily snuff out? Because Kyung’s never been more in touch with his mortality than he’s been this past month. Or, worse yet, that he now knows that Jiho’s only made of skin and bones too.

So he throws an arm around Jiho’s waist and kisses his way up from Jiho’s pulse point on his neck, to his slightly swollen jaw, drawing back only to say, “Better?”

// 

“Better,” Jiho agrees, brushing Kyung’s hair from his eyes with his free hand. “Much. I’m sorry about earlier.”

In the his post-orgasmic haze it’s hard to remember what he was so upset about – but he remembers when Kyung’s lips brush over his jaw again, still tender from the punch. He inhales sharply, having forgotten – for a time – how much it had hurt to be rejected so vehemently, and being unable to protest or do anything about it because Taeil was right. But he smiles down at Kyung; the despair that wreathed him before seems so distant now, even if the hurt is still there underneath his skin. He knows that whatever comes they’ll get through this together, and he tries to telegraph this in the kiss that he presses gently to Kyung’s forehead.

//

"It's not your fault," Kyung says, automatically, at first, then repeats it again just for emphasis, making sure that Jiho's looking at him properly the second time so he can see how serious Kyung is. "It's not. They just don't understand yet."

_Yet_ hangs awkwardly between them, because this isn't something that they're going to understand given time, not when Jiho nor Kyung's going to admit to anything. And besides, he can't imagine how a scenario that involves him telling Jaehyo that Jiho kills people for a living—and oh, yeah, Kyung'd stabbed someone in the throat too, did he forget to mention that?—would go down any way but disastrous. And Kyung's had enough shit for the next decade, if not a lifetime.

So he says, "They're gonna see what I see," and kisses Jiho's shoulder as he pushes himself up and stretches with a loud groan. "Besides, it's not that hard. Just let them touch your car or something."

//

Jiho laughs at that, both at Kyung’s words and how he stretches, lithe and fluid like a cat. “I could _buy_ them a car each. Would that solve it?”

He swallows Kyung’s laughter with a kiss, pulling Kyung on top of him. They stay there like that for a while, on the new rug, Jiho drawing patterns on Kyung’s back with his fingers as they talk about nothing and everything, Kyung’s face pressed up against Jiho’s neck. It’s only until Kyung falls asleep like that that Jiho realises how late it is, so as carefully as he can he picks Kyung up and carries him to bed, cuddling up to him as he sleeps. 

The next morning he wakes early, earlier than Kyung – who’s snoring softly, his face clear of any worries – and gets dressed before grabbing his sketchbook and coloured pencils, settling himself on the floor in front of the bed to draw. In fact, he loses track of time completely, and when he looks up to add the finishing touch on the curl sitting on Kyung’s forehead he realises Kyung’s eyes are open, watching him, and he jumps.

“Hey,” he says, breathless, a little flustered. “Sleepyhead.” 

// 

Kyung'd been dreaming—which isn't anything new, by now. A surprising byproduct of having so many damn vague nightmares is that it doesn't really freak him out any more. No more sharp gasps of breath in the middle of the night (that had scared Jaehyo more than it did Kyung), not nearly as much thrashing as turning as before. But the residual nightmare leaves his heart thudding like a jackhammer in his ears, like he's been running and running with the knowledge that he's doomed, anyway. But that changes the moment he lays eyes on Jiho, face illuminated in the soft morning light as he pores over his sketchbook.

Kyung closes his eyes again, momentarily, and lets the sound of Jiho's pencil scribbling wash over him and wonders if it'd always been predestined that his heart would always adjust to beat to the rhythm of Woo Jiho's name.

He grins when Jiho catches him staring, turns his face into the pillow so Jiho doesn't misconstrue his laughter, then extends a hand to cup Jiho's cheek, thinking, _would I always be this in love with you?_ He knows his answer the second he leans over to bridge the gap between them to kiss Jiho, to draw Jiho back on the bed. And they fuck, slowly and lazily. Jiho laughs when Kyung comes first, and Kyung whines, leaning up to swallow that laughter like liquid luck.  

The spell is broken when Kyung catches sight of the time and nearly falls out of bed in his rush to grab his clothes. He can't afford another week of missed lessons, no matter how enticing the alternative is. In between his shower and stealing Jiho's toothbrush, Kyung manages to convince him to tag along.

"It's gonna be fun," Kyung says as convincingly as possible, given that his morning's class was on advanced calculus. It's the promised subsequent blowjob reward that seals the deal, and Kyung finds himself, surreally enough, in class with Jiho pressed up distractingly next to him. He realizes his mistakes immediately when Jiho's hand starts creeping up his thigh mid-lecture, and Kyung has to shove his paper and his best pencil at Jiho to distract him.

His true intentions make themselves obvious after lunch, when Kyung leads Jiho to the art building under the pretext of "walking off my indigestion". "You mentioned this before, right?" Kyung asks, a little unsurely, as they look up at the mesh of metal and glass. "Let's just take a look. See how you like it."


	20. Chapter 20

It was very easy to be distracted in Kyung’s lecture, and not just because it’s maths and Jiho had failed out of maths years ago and hasn’t done it since. No, more like it’s fascinating to watch Kyung like this, listening to the lecturer and taking notes diligently, shooting Jiho glances out of the corner of his eye every few minutes. But Jiho gets bored easily and soon finds himself rubbing Kyung’s thigh underneath the table, and is only distracted by the piece of paper that Kyung shoves at him. He spends the rest of the class sketching everything, from the way Kyung rests his head on his hand to the profile of the girl in front of him to the lecturer’s hands holding a stick of chalk. In fact, he stays sort of distracted until he finds himself in front of a building labelled _Fine Arts_ and he baulks as Kyung tries to pull him in, chewing his lip.

“Kyung,” he whines. “I’m not good enough to go here.”

And he’s not – he knows he’s not. To get into uni for arts surely you must need some kind of formal training, some sort of proof that you really can be an artist and you’re not just masquerading as one, which he is. But Kyung just looks at him patiently, expectantly, so he sighs and trudges inside, dragging his feet deliberately.

The moment he walks in he notices the art on the walls – paintings, photography, sculptures; he even spies a pencil sketch and drags Kyung over to look, his eyes wide.

// 

Kyung supposes this is what it feels like for Jiho, earlier, when he sat in on Kyung’s lecture. Because other than Jiho’s own drawings and Jaehyo’s work (that he’s forced to look at, most of the time), Kyung can’t find it in himself to make any other commentary that’s not, “That looks nice? The colours are… very bright.” Still, he lets himself be dragged around from piece to piece, and even he has to concede that some of them look pretty damn impressive, which isn’t good for Jiho’s self-esteem.

So Kyung cuts short the grand tour to drag Jiho to the admissions office and sits him down with the student assistant—a friend of a friend’s, as it turns out—where Kyung manages, through sheer power of his overwhelming enthusiasm, to wrangle out all the details for Jiho’s admission. They walk out with a thick stack of magazines and a folder of admission requirements, both of which Jiho holds like a ticking time bomb. 

“I’ve seen you draw,” Kyung tries to tell him, taking the folder lest Jiho makes an impromptu decision to chuck it out as they leave, “I’ve seen other art students draw. Trust me.” He flips through the paperwork to pull out the single-sheet of instructions for the admission portfolio and dangles it in front of Jiho’s face. “Plus, you never know until you give it a shot. This’ll prove to you that you’re good enough.” 

//

It takes Jiho a good three days to even _look_ at the paperwork, which he’s put on his kitchen table so he sees it every time he gets something to eat. And even when he does, sitting down and filling everything out is so fucking daunting; he ends up ringing Kyung and dragging him away from his homework to help, because the bureaucracy is insane.

“I didn’t have to deal with this in the Organisation,” he grumbles, which earns him a dark look from Kyung, and Jiho can practically hear his thoughts: _that’s because, instead of dealing with paperwork, you were killing people like some kind of goddamned robot_.

Eventually though it’s all done, and he even manages to piece together a portfolio of his best stuff; most of it is Kyung, just snippets, but he’s drawn everything he could think of (including two small portraits of Jaehyo and Taeil, as much as it stung). He mourns the first sketchbook, with its drawing of Kyung framed in blue; as it is, the portrait of him at the beach bathed in the light of the dying sun is its substitute. Kyung’d raised an eyebrow when he’d seen how much of himself was in there, but had grudgingly allowed it to be submitted anyway.

So when Jiho gets a letter in his mailbox two weeks later – two weeks later of being bored to tears, so much so that he’d even ended up at the fighting ring again just for something to _do_ – he texts Kyung two words: _it’s here_.

They’d agreed to open it together, so he props the letter up on the dining room table and flings himself on the sofa to wait for Kyung to get here, the nerves churning in his belly. He knows it’s a rejection letter, he _knows_ it – but still, there’s a tiny, irritating spark of hope that refuses to die, whispering to him _what if it’s not?_

// 

Kyung’d been itching to leave the moment he receives Jiho’s text and he nearly goes careening down the steps of his lecture theatre when he exits, resisting the urge to text Jiho a barrage of _open it and tell me_ because he knows that Jiho won’t do it until he gets there. He makes a pit stop at the convenience store to grab a cheap bottle of wine—for celebrating, if Jiho gets in, and for getting wasted if he doesn’t—as he texts Jiho his exact ETA. He’s so excited that it takes him multiple times before he gets the key into the door and lets himself in with a triumphant sound.

“I’m here! Christ, I don’t even remember getting this worked up when it was my turn,” Kyung announces as he sets the bottle down on the kitchen island and sheds his coat, chucking it aside in favour of striding towards Jiho and stops completely still in his tracks when he catches sight of Jiho’s face. He knows Jiho still fights, sometimes, knows it from the occasional bruise and complaint Jiho has about the opposition, though he usually keeps things mostly quiet. Kyung doesn’t really want to hear it anyway, but hearing it and seeing it are two different things, and currently, part of Jiho’s face’d turned the colour of the wine Kyung’d bought.

//

Jiho sees the moment Kyung catches sight of his face, freezing on the spot, his eyes flicking over the bruises that had bloomed after a particularly difficult, but very satisfying, fight. “Ignore it,” he groans, grabbing Kyung by the wrist and dragging him over to the sofa, sitting him down. “You can yell at me after. We have bigger things to worry about.”

He looks over wide-eyed at the innocuous-looking envelope, sitting harmlessly on the table, taking it hesitantly like it’s going to bite him. Kyung’s just _watching_ him wordlessly as he sticks his thumbnail under the flap and tears it open, closing his eyes and pulling out the sheet of paper inside.

It’s so childish to be this torn up over one piece of paper, but Jiho knows it represents so much more than that. It represents normalcy, the chance at a regular life he’d wished he could give Kyung months ago. And even if he knows there’ll always be a part of him that’s addicted to violence – hence his semi-regular expeditions to the fight club – he also knows that he no longer has to kill to quell it, and that he really _could_ be normal. It’s all this and more that makes his fingers clench involuntarily, crumpling the paper that he _still_ can’t open his eyes to look at.

“You read it,” he huffs, shoving it towards Kyung. “I can’t do it.”

//

“Jiho—” Kyung starts, because all he literally has to do is open his fucking eyes, and in light of everything else that Kyung’d seen Jiho do with his eyes wide open, completely unflinching, this is easy. But Kyung takes pity on him, snags the paper with one hand and laces his fingers with Jiho’s in the other. He flips the paper over—feeling more queasy than he has reason to, considering that this wasn’t even life or death, there were _other_ schools, better schools even—and sees the bolded ‘Congratulations!’ and finds himself speechlessly jiggling Jiho’s hand.

But Jiho persists at holding him at an arm’s length, like Kyung might be contagious with an airborne disease, so Kyung tugs him closer and drops his hand in favour of cupping the back of his neck to kiss him once, twice, then says, “Welcome to art school, I hope you’re ready to wake up at ass o’clock in the morning.”

//

“Fuck off,” Jiho blurts, opening his eyes and grabbing the piece of paper. “I didn’t – oh my god. I did.”

Kyung’s just grinning at him, his eyes crinkled up, and for a moment Jiho can’t _move_ , the joy he feels confounding him completely – but then he throws his arms around Kyung’s neck and yanks him backwards, so he’s lying on his back with Kyung on top of him. He squeezes, burying his head in Kyung’s neck and making an inhuman noise that is higher than he even thought his voice could go. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “I did it.”

He’s honestly acting like a child, but this is the first time anyone other than Kyung has told him he’s worth something, that he’s good at something that’s not killing, and he doesn’t realise how sweet that could taste. “Where’s the wine?” he blurts into Kyung’s neck, wriggling excitedly. 

// 

“Why do you think I brought wine?” Kyung questions, propping himself up on one arm to look down at Jiho. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jiho this excited before, and the sight of it does something strange to Kyung’s heart. So he let’s it show by peppering kisses all across Jiho’s face—bruised skin or not—making loud obnoxious sounds with each smack of his lips until Jiho laughingly shoves him away. “Okay, okay, I brought wine.” 

He pushes himself off of the couch and picks up the letter of admission again, scanning through it quickly to make sure that everything is at it is, and no nasty surprises lay in place, before handing it back to Jiho with a wide grin as he goes to grab the wine. It seems a little disproportionate now, that he’d paid approximately 15,000won for this wine when this was clearly a monumental moment in Jiho’s life, judging from the way he’d nearly strangled Kyung in a headlock.

“What do you wanna do? To celebrate? I could buy you dinner— no, I could _cook_ you dinner. All two courses of it,” Kyung rambles as he wanders off into the kitchen to search for a corkscrew.

//

Jiho reads the letter over and over again as Kyung potters around the kitchen, until he’s memorised every word, the congratulations feeling particularly sweet. He grins back at Kyung as he returns with two glasses of red, handing one to Jiho and nursing the other.

He downs the wine in one go, seeing Kyung open his mouth to protest out of the corner of his eye – so Jiho turns and kisses him, his hand sliding around the back of Kyung’s neck. “I’ve got a better idea of what we could do to celebrate,” he breathes against Kyung’s lips, watching Kyung’s pupils dilate. “Come here.”

They fuck all night, making their way through Kyung’s bottle of wine and even the soju that Jiho keeps in his fridge until they’re both drunk and fucking exhausted, sweaty and sticking to each other. Jiho nuzzles Kyung’s hair and wonders, not for the first time, how his life could have turned around so much, how he could feel like two different people: before Kyung and after Kyung. In fact, as his eyes flutter shut, he wonders how he walked through life with his eyes closed, not seeing and not existing until now.

//

After a while, the bruises on Jiho’s face fade, and life finds its way back to a semblance of normalcy. Kyung’s awkward standstill with Taeil lasts approximately a week, after which they have a screaming match in the middle of the corridor that ends with Kyung screaming, “Fine, I care about you too! I just don’t punch people when to show my concern!” 

Taeil’s subsequent, “That’s because you _can’t_ , dumbass!” would probably hurt more if a) Kyung hadn’t actually tried his fist in punching and knows that for a fact and b) he hadn’t followed that up with a defensive, “So it’s _my_ job to beat assholes who hurt you.” After that, there’s only silence, and then Jaehyo instigating 505 to yell an aggravating, _go on! Kiss and make up!_ , because of course the entire floor is watching them fight this out. Of _course_.

The veneer of normalcy shatters exactly a week after that fight, when Jaehyo distracts him from chopping up some potatoes in the kitchen (“You don’t put _milk_ in this soup? Really? Then why is it so _white?_ ”) and he ends up slicing his palm open. It’s not a deep cut, but enough for the blood to flow freely enough that Kyung freezes entirely, sinking back into another time, another place, another shiny knife and someone else’s blood.

“Kyung?” Jaehyo asks. Kyung barely notices Jaehyo’s hand on his shoulder, barely _hears_ him shrieking _you’re bleeding on the potatoes!_ Everything blurs out when he blinks, the air seems to still and move again in slow, lazy swirls, making it hard for Kyung to breathe, and then—and then he finds himself sitting on his bed, with Jaehyo fussing around with his hand, muttering things under his breath that sound suspiciously like _you’re fucking crazy jesus fuck what the hell all I wanted was potato soup_.

“I’m fine, stop worrying,” Kyung says, out of habit. But Jaehyo, who hasn’t spent a month running into disaster after disaster, eyes him suspiciously, with that same undercurrent of doubt he’d been watching Kyung every time he even so much as mentions Jiho’s name. Which is why he does it as minimally as possible.

“This has something to do with your eat pray love shit, doesn’t it?” Jaehyo questions, pulling the bandage on a little tighter before pressing the end flat to seal it. “You’re not telling me and I don’t like it.”

“You don’t want to hear it,” Kyung says unthinkingly, flexing his fingers. The silence that follows makes him look up questioningly, and he wonders if this is the look Kyung had worn on his own face when he’d first heard Jiho’s explanation. So Kyung quickly backpedals, “Not like _that_. It’s just— it’s complicated.”

 “Isn’t that always the case with Woo Jiho?” Jaehyo asks, almost mockingly. And Kyung should get angry, he _should_ , but all he can muster up is a sadness for the fact that their friendship can’t ever go back to the clean and easy way it once was. 

“He’s had… a hard childhood,” Kyung says, curling his fingers down to feel the bandage press against the cut, because he’s _lying_ , and hadn’t he been skirting around the subject for so long just so he didn’t have to? “It’s complicated, but trust me, okay? I know what we are.”

For a moment, Jaehyo still looks doubtful, but then he pulls a face like he can’t believe Kyung’d just said any of those things. He doesn’t protest, so Kyung knows, at least, that he’s respecting Kyung’s decision enough to shut up and pack up the first-aid kit instead.

The dreams come later that night, and he should really have anticipated it and taken a sleeping pill so he can actually _sleep_. But he wakes up, shaky and drenched in his own sweat, with the indescribably knowledge that Jiho’s dead, that he hadn’t saved him, that god, he’s alone now, _god_ , that there’s some things worse than death and he— 

With shaky hands, he makes a wild grab for his phone and dials Jiho’s number. It’s late, and he really shouldn’t be doing this, not when he knows he can pull his covers over his head and deal with it alone. But the dial tone goes through and the line clicks, Jiho rasping a, “Kyung?” into his ear that could’ve very well been the godamn choir singing. 

“I,” Kyung starts, then stops to swallow, because he doesn’t want to worry Jiho _too much_ over a nightmare. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to remember that his dream is just that: a dream, that he’s being stupid when he feels like he can’t discern which reality he’s living in, that the dusty godamn farmhouse is starting to feel more familiar to him than his own dorm. “I’m stressed. Can I… come over? I know it’s late—I just—it’s—I cut my hand on some potatoes and Jaehyo freaked out.” Kyung bites down on his lip, pressing his bandaged palm against the phone just so he can feel it. _This is real_ , he thinks, with the sharp sting that comes. “Not the potatoes. On a knife. I mean, the potatoes—they were inedible afterwards, obviously, that’s not hygienic, so we threw it out.”

//

The past two weeks have been, of course, the same as the two before that – Jiho trying to be normal. It’s a little different, this time, because now he has something to look forward to – even if he knows he’s not going to be starting uni for months and months. 

But still he gets restless and bored, which is why he finds himself at the fight club one night, bandaging up his hands in preparation. He’s already been in one match tonight, and is sporting a bloody nose; he hasn’t bothered to wipe it away because he just knows it will start again as soon as he steps into the makeshift octagon. As he wraps the tape carefully, over and under his fingers in the criss-cross pattern he’d been taught years ago, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and fishes it out. He knows it’s Kyung before even catching sight of the caller ID, because the only person who has this number and who talks to him is Kyung. So, raising an eyebrow, he sticks the phone between his shoulder and ear, wondering what it is that’s making Kyung call so late. It’s not unusual – especially since he’s pulling all nighters more and more frequently in the lead up to exams – but he senses something’s off, and it’s confirmed when Kyung starts babbling about potatoes.

His heart sinks down to his feet at that. Fuck. Jiho’d thought – well, he’d been naive and had thought that Kyung would get out of it all relatively unscathed. But he should have known better than that – considering no one really gets out of what they’ve been through without some scars. They’d just taken a while to manifest in Kyung, which meant they were lurking, all this time, and he hadn’t known. He drops the roll of tape on the floor and stands up, feeling suddenly slightly sick. “Of course you can come over. Don’t ever feel like you have to ask. That’s what I gave you a key for,” he replies, deliberately keeping his tone light, trying to make Kyung feel better as he grabs his duffel bag and walks out of the dingy change rooms, heading past the octagon and up the stairs. He hears Kyung’s sigh of relief and sags slightly, before holding the phone to his chest and leaning over to tell the coordinator that he has to go. He’s not happy about it, Jiho can tell, but he promises he’ll make it up to him next time and walks outside to his car, putting the phone back to his ear. “Are you okay to get the bus? I can come and pick you up if you want.” 

Jiho can’t bear the thought of Kyung like this – obviously shaky, obviously not himself – sitting alone on a bus, his hoodie on and his face strained. Perhaps the worst thought of all is that he knows this is _his_ fault, that he’s done this to Kyung, indirectly. Kyung’s got blood on his hands, and that can’t ever be erased, so he lets out a shaky breath and tips his head back on the seat, wrapping one hand around the steering wheel, knowing that this is his cross to bear – not Kyung’s. 

//

He knows that Jiho knows, but he doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. Between the both of them, it really shouldn’t be Jiho’s job to be the comforting one, and it’s that that has Kyung reconsidering this phone call entirely, that perhaps he should be telling Jiho to stay put. It’s just a nightmare. Kyung’s had so many of them that he’s starting to think of them as his personalized horror movies. Besides, Jiho’s out somewhere, and Kyung realizes that he’s probably at the fighting ring. Which Kyung largely disapproves of but can’t do anything about it, anyway. Fighting’d been a part of Jiho’s life longer than Kyung had been, and some days he thinks that Jiho actually enjoys getting knocked around.

But for once, he swallows his pride—does he even have any of that left, with Jiho?—and says, “Yeah, that’s—yeah, thanks. You’re not busy, right?”

He hates how he sounds, because the thing is this: he’s supposed to have left all of this behind, let it wash away from him like the waves of the ocean at the beach house. He’s not stupid; he knows that what he’s done will stick to him for a long time yet, but he’d thought that the fact that he’d done it for _Jiho_ , for the sake of his own survival, would make a world of a difference. But here he is now, with his hand clenched tightly around the phone, feeling a palpable sense of anxiety beat like wings in his chest and he wonders, not for the first time, if he’s a murderer after all.

// 

“Nah,” Jiho replies easily, putting the phone on speaker and dropping it in his lap as he peels out of the carpark, putting his foot flat to the floor, thanking God that Kyung’s not far away. “I was – I was just at the fighting ring. Besides, I’m never busy, not for you.”

He hears the silence on the other end of the line and chews his lip, his eyes flicking between the road and his rearview mirror as he shoots along, mindful of where the speed cameras are. He knows Kyung doesn’t approve of him fighting, but they’ve adopted a _don’t ask, don’t tell_ policy – and besides, he’ll literally go insane if he doesn’t expend his energy somehow. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he finally blurts, blasting through a red light. “I love you.”

The words make him feel slightly guilty this time around as he chews on his lip. If it wasn’t for him, they wouldn't be in this mess. But they are, and he’s just gonna have to deal, and try to talk Kyung through this as best he can. 

//

All at once, it feels like the weight’d been lifted from his chest and Kyung sighs. It’s not like the first time Jiho’s said it, nor is it even remotely near the tenth, fiftieth, hundredth time, but Kyung still melts anyway, scrubbing a hand over his face as he mumbles back a quiet _I love you too_.  

He keeps telling himself that he shouldn’t be using Jiho as a crutch, but since his world turned upside down, Jiho’s the only lifeline he knows. As if on cue, Jaehyo snorts and murmurs something in his sleep, so Kyung slowly gets out of bed to look for his bright yellow flip-flops, grabbing his keys and his jacket before slipping quietly out.

“There’s no way there’s a fighting ring ten minutes from my school,” Kyung says, leaning against the corridor’s wall as he fits his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. There’s no use dwelling on the subject at hand, and Kyung figures that it’s not that he wants to talk it out—far from that, even, he wants to magically repress it so he doesn’t have to think about it again—but he’d wanted a distraction. A Jiho-shaped distraction. “Unless… no, don’t tell me. It’s the Dunkin Donuts, isn’t it? I knew there was something fishy about the surprisingly ripped cashiers.”

//

“Yeah,” Jiho replies, hanging a particularly dramatic left. “You have to tell them the secret password. It’s _banana milkshake_. And then you have to do the secret handshake.”

He’s being deliberately light hearted, because he knows he has to for the sake of both their sanity. In fact, he can hear that Kyung’s feeling a little better, or is at least feigning it; it’s not like he can tell over the phone. But still. He’ll do anything, be anything, say anything to make Kyung smile, because anytime he does Jiho still feels like he’s falling in love all over again. “But whatever you do, don’t ask for a chocolate milkshake. Then you’re in for a world of pain.”

Kyung’s right, though – there’s no way the fighting ring is ten minutes away from his dorm… If you drive like a normal citizen, which Jiho hasn’t seemed to be able to do since life returned to this new brand of normalcy. He knows he’s no longer under the Organisation’s protection, so he looked up a map of where all the speed cameras were in the area, memorising them so he can drive normally when he goes past them. Not for the first time, though, he’s grateful for the 500bhp he has at his command – and then sags a little, because for some reason that makes him think of Taeil and Jaehyo, and he’s still not quite over what had happened, as much as he puts on a brave face for Kyung.

//

Kyung laughs then, at the teasing tone of Jiho’s voice, at how easy it is to pretend that everything is normal. He’d asked Jiho, once, what it’d be like if they’d met under other circumstances, and now more than ever he wants it. He wants to meet Jiho, the art student, and leave all this baggage somewhere he wouldn’t ever know it exists. It’s a selfish thought and he knows it, so he settles for saying, “Yeah, sure, that’s what you’ve been doing. A secret _handshake_.”  

They’re skirting dangerously close to something they’ve never really talked about, that they should _probably_ talk about but Kyung doesn’t know how to broach the subject in a way that didn’t make him sound like he was getting his teeth pulled out. _Hey, so, I don’t appreciate you getting punched up but I’d like to watch some day because you enjoy it anyway?_ didn’t seem quite right, and any variations thereafter just made him feel like he was telling Jiho what to do.

“Can I come, next time?” Kyung finds himself blurting out, his brain catching up only a second later. _Shit_ , he thinks, as he quickly backpedals. “To the fight, I mean, not Dunkin Donuts. Their donuts _are_ pretty shit, and there was a time Jaehyo kept buying them. And their milkshakes, by the way, so I’m not sure how he doesn’t have diabetes. Must be all the sour candy he eats that balances it out. But there’s no pressure. You don’t have to—I mean, it’s up to you.”

//

Jiho chews at his lip and falls silent. He doesn’t know if that’s a good idea; especially because Kyung had had a mental break at the sight of his own blood – what is he going to do at the sight of Jiho’s? Will it send him spinning backwards into a flashback of the farmhouse, where he’d been covered in his own blood and close to death, Kyung sacrificing someone else to save him? Jiho doesn’t know if he could handle watching that; it would hurt him more than he could bear. But on the other hand he cannot deny Kyung anything, and if he really wants to see Jiho fighting – well.

“Jiho?” Kyung asks through the phone, and he realises he’s been silent.

“Yeah – yeah. I’m here,” he replies, peering through the windshield, realising he’s starting to recognise these streets. “Do you really want to come see me fight? You’re welcome to – it’s just –” he grapples with his words uselessly before sighing and giving up. “I’m worried about you. Are you sure you wanna see that?”

//

In Jiho's silence, Kyung finds his answer. And he's right—of course he's right, Kyung's starting to register that as a pattern—but it still stings anyway. Wasn't it also him who'd spent the entirety of the action movie Taeil had insisted on watching staring at his bag of chips when it'd gotten too intense? He'd known that he'd come back different, but he didn't think that he'd come back damaged.

 "Yeah, probably not," Kyung concedes, transferring his phone to his other hand, "I just thought... y'know. Supportive boyfriend. I was gonna wear a shirt with your face on it and everything." Joking about things usually made them easier, but now he just feels like he's lying to Jiho. And he doesn't want that in the slightest, so he drags his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath as he starts off down the corridor again. When he speaks, this time, he at least manages to sound cheery. "I'll wait for you at the entrance? Tell me you're almost here."

// 

Kyung’s usual easy banter sounds strained, this time, and Jiho’s fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. “I’m about three minutes away,” he replies. “See you then.”

He hangs up and hits the brakes for the speed camera he knows is lurking just around this corner, chewing at his lip so aggressively he tastes blood. He’s not quite sure what to expect when he sees Kyung – he’s never heard him this shaken, this off before. The rest of the journey goes quickly, and soon he’s pulling up in the carpark, stepping out of the car and spying Kyung. He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs with his arms wrapped around himself, looking very small and pale, and Jiho’s heart sinks as he crosses the grass.

“Hey, you,” he mumbles, stopping dead in front of Kyung and smiling down at him. “Come here.”

And then he’s pulling Kyung into a hug, rubbing soothing circles on his back and kissing the top of his head gently, feeling Kyung cling to him tightly. Jiho closes his eyes and resists the urge to sigh with the unfairness of it all; he knows there’s no point in dwelling on what should have been, but it’s so hard not to, not when Kyung looks so broken.

//

The moment Jiho's arms close around him, Kyung sags in relief, burying his face in the crook of Jiho's neck. It isn't supposed to be like this—he's only supposed to have been a liability while they were on the run, but now here he is, dragging Jiho out in the middle of the night... and for what? A hug?

"Sorry," he mumbles, though he's not sure what he's referring to. If it's meant to be for all the times Kyung'd fucked up and forced Jiho to show his hand (and his guns), then it seems too weak. If it's for tonight... well, Jiho probably wouldn't appreciate it either.

The thing is this: despite all that, here in the circle of Jiho's arms is where Kyung feels like he's safest. And he hadn't thought he'd ever think of another person as home. But as he draws back to look at Jiho—haloed under the warm street lamp, with his eyebrows drawn together in concern—Kyung can't help wonder if this is the trajectory he'd always meant to be set on from the second he took his first breath.

// 

Jiho wonders how everything got so flipped around the moment Kyung had taken a knife and sunk it into another man’s neck – it had changed everything, knocking them both for six. But he shakes his head as he touches Kyung on the face gently, smiling down at him. If he has to protect Kyung, comfort him – he’ll do it, no matter what. “Don’t be sorry. You know I’m always here for you.”

Kyung closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and Jiho hums happily, just the simple fact of having Kyung in close proximity making his heart sing, even if it’s under less-than-ideal circumstances. “Talk to me,” he whispers. “What happened?”

//

"Potatoes," Kyung says immediately, because that's the first thing that comes to mind. Then the blood, then Jaehyo's look of concern, directed wholly at the wrong thing. It's not like Kyung can say _everything_ to Jiho, because that's not exactly true. He just doesn't know where to start or what he should talk about that they hadn't already discussed.

Kyung chews on the inside of his lip as he takes Jiho's hand from his face to lace their fingers together. "Just—the usual, nothing new. Let's get in your car first, I'm fucking freezing." If he sounds strained, he can at least chalk it up to the fact that it's in the middle of the night and that he has a regularly scheduled life, now.

They start down the walkway towards the road and, at this angle, Kyung can see Jiho's face better. He narrows his eyes when he says, "Did you have a _nosebleed?"_  

//

Jiho blanches at the obvious brush-off but resolves not to let Kyung get away with the silence – they need to talk it through some time, or else this is just going to get worse. But he can’t force the words out of him, so he just purses his lips in a line and squeezes Kyung’s hand as they walk.

“Yeah,” he replies, scrubbing a bit self-consciously with his sleeve at the blood on his upper lip. “Got socked in the face.”  

He hates how Kyung’s eyes narrow even further at that, but he can’t do anything about it so he just looks down, avoiding stepping on the cracks in the footpath carefully, bearing the brunt of the awkward silence.

// 

When they stop at his car, Kyung tugs Jiho to face him and says, “Come here,” and then wets the tip of his sleeve with his tongue to wipe away at the blood crusting around his nose. He’s honestly seen enough of Jiho’s blood spill for ten lifetimes, but he supposes it’s different if Jiho likes it. 

“I dreamt of the motel,” Kyung starts saying, slowly, with the heel of his hand still dabbing carefully against Jiho’s face. Like this, with him slightly out of sight, it’s a little easier to relay the nightmare he’d found himself in. “When we first checked in… I didn’t know what to do and there was so much _blood_ and you were… you were barely breathing and I was so fucking scared.” His hand stills, clenches around the edge of his sleeve, and he closes his eyes, thinking of the fervent way he’d watched Jiho’s chest rise and fall under all those layers of bandages. _You thought you died_ , Kyung wants to say. “And tonight… you did. I dreamt I came back from washing my hands and you were—” Kyung finds that he can’t even _say_ it, that it didn’t even happen but he fears it all the same, that the twin feelings of death—both Jiho and the man who attacked him—twisted around him in a vice grip and he can’t breathe.

He squeezes his eyes shut for fear that he might actually, god-to-honestly cry, pressing his face to the solid plane of Jiho’s shoulder. The logical part of his mind told him that he’s being ridiculous—Jiho’s standing right in front of him, as solid as ever. But then, Kyung doesn’t know that, does he? Doesn’t know if this is reality, or if reality had really come to a halting stop in that barnhouse.

//

Jiho’s breath hitches in his throat at Kyung’s words, and wordlessly he wraps his arms around Kyung and pulls him closer, so they’re pressed up against each other. It’s all he can do to hold Kyung, try to communicate that he’s safe now, that it’s over, that Jiho won’t let anyone or anything get to him. He feels Kyung clenching at him, grabbing, and he breathes out shakily. “I’m here,” he whispers, wishing he could give Kyung more than just words. “I’m here. I’m real. Feel me.” Kyung does, his hands slipping underneath Jiho’s shirt to splay against his back. “I’m not – nothing is going to hurt you when I’m around. _Nothing._  I promise.”

He kisses the top of Kyung’s head and rests his cheek there, closing his eyes. He doesn’t know what else to do, what else he _can_ do – the suggestion that Kyung get some therapy would probably not go down well. But PTSD is not something to fuck with, even if he knows that a therapist is a no-go because… Well, how do you even explain what happened to them to a stranger? It can’t be done, not without consequences. So they’re on their own, no-one else in the world knowing what happened that day, clinging to each other desperately. He feels so fucking useless like this, knowing he’s no help to Kyung but not knowing _how_ to help.

“I love you,” he whispers, hating himself for resorting to this, for having nothing else left to give. “I’ll always be here.”

//

 _But that’s the problem,_  Kyung thinks, pressing his ear over Jiho’s heart, recalling the first time he’d done exactly this,  _you_ _can’t be sure of that_ . Their lives had moved in a constant flux that, to Kyung, the pattern would only be likely to follow. And he’s tried to convince himself that this isn’t true, worked himself in silly circles trying to figure out ways to validate the fact that they were fine now. That _Jiho’_ s only getting injured on his own terms, but with things like this, it seems like logic and reason isn’t the way to go.

“Do you remember what you said after I got to you that night?” Kyung mumbles, against the fabric of Jiho’s shirt. Jiho had rasped those words more than said that, sounding more at peace than Kyung’d ever heard him, at the time. And it gnaws at him, sometimes, when he lets his thoughts drift, lets himself be swallowed by the impending sense of doom before he snaps back to reality and keeps moving. But now, he can’t stop the words from spilling out of him, frayed at the edges with well-worn worry. “You said—” Kyung gulps, more to brace himself than anything else “—you said it wouldn’t be so bad to die.”

 //

Jiho stills, the world seeming to fall away with Kyung’s words, his fingers involuntarily clenching in Kyung’s shirt. Surely – surely he wouldn’t? He didn’t? He can’t remember much from that night, just flashes – Kyung standing over the body of a dead man, panting; Kyung, his hands fluttering over Jiho’s face, begging him to wake up; raising his gun and firing it almost blindly, his legs giving out from underneath him. He was so delusional and so out of it that he could have said anything, done anything, and not meant it.

“Did I?” he mutters, his heart sinking. “Fuck. I’m… I don’t remember. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say, what placations he could give, to something he doesn’t even remember but that is tearing Kyung up so badly. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t mean it.”

//

Kyung didn’t know how much he needed to hear Jiho say that aloud until he feels a weight lift from his chest. The seeds of doubt had first been planted the morning after their fight, after Jiho’d said that he’d seen himself going out in a blaze of glory… and after that, it’s only too easy to draw lines from point A to B and come up with the reason for why Jiho keeps going back to the godamn fighting ring. Kyung just hadn’t realized that he’d drawn that conclusion yet, that it’s been haunting him in the form of Jiho’s bloodied hand, circling around Kyung’s own wrist right before it falls limp and Jiho exhales and—  
  
When he draws back this time, he slides his palm against Jiho’s, and hooks Kyung’s pinky with his, using that to tug their hands up between them. It’s a bit childish, a bit silly in the grand scheme of what he’s asking Jiho to promise him when he says, “I’m holding you to that,” but ruins the moment completely when he turns his head to the side to sneeze loudly.

//

“Bless you,” Jiho replies automatically, realising that they’re standing outside in _winter._ “Come on, in you get.”

He guides Kyung into the car and turns on the seat heater, catching Kyung’s hands in one of his own as they peel out of the car park, trying to still his shivers. They drive in silence for a while, Jiho trying to put his thoughts into order, his thumb stroking Kyung’s.

“I won’t – I won’t leave you,” he begins, sounding hoarse and clearing his throat. “Not in that way, and not ever. I love you.” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance over at Kyung, smiling at him in the darkness. “You’re stuck with me now.”

 _We’ve been through too much shit to ever part,_ he wants to say, but doesn’t know if it will be taken in the way he intends it to, not in the wake of Kyung’s meltdown. So he just turns Kyung’s hand over and kisses the bandage on his palm gently.

// 

Kyung bites on the inside of his cheek when Jiho’s lips brush against his bandage and he slides his palm up against the side of Jiho’s neck, tucking back his hair so Kyung can trace the shell of Jiho’s ear with the pad of his thumb. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just watches Jiho’s face oscillate between illumination and darkness and lets his eyes close as he goes back to the first time he’d laid eyes on Jiho. He recalls it being a warm day, recalls the feeling of Jiho pressed to his side, of the heat radiating from him in a way that was almost intoxicating, especially since he was a stranger.  
  
When he opens his eyes again, Jiho’s looking at him with his mouth hanging slightly open, like he’s about to say something, like he’s said something and Kyung’d missed it entirely. “You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Kyung says, swivelling in his seat so he can draw his legs up and hug them to himself, resting his chin on his knees as he watches Jiho drive. “I mean… yeah, you nearly set your kitchen on fire that one time. And you obsessed over traffic maps for one week straight. Oh, and the thing with Mrs. Choi’s granddaughter—” Kyung has to stop himself from laughing at the memory of Jiho, trapped in the lift with a panicky five year old “—okay, maybe you’re onto something.” 

// 

Jiho laughs at that, gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life. “Asshole,” he replies fondly. “You’re so cruel to me.” 

He winks in Kyung’s direction as he drives on, and soon they’re arriving at Jiho’s place. Jiho scoops Kyung into a fireman’s carry over his shoulder to carry him into the apartment, laughing as Kyung kicks at him futilely, his giggles reverberating through Jiho’s whole body. Jiho throws him down onto the bed and crawls on top of him, kissing Kyung and stripping him of his clothing slowly, grinning as Kyung begs for more. 

When he wakes – earlier than Kyung, as per usual – he kisses Kyung on the shoulder before getting out of bed to heat up some breakfast. By the time Kyung pads out into the kitchen yawning, Jiho has made some semblance of a normal breakfast, having heated up oats and chopped fruit for them both (he’d burnt his oats in the microwave but Kyung doesn’t need to know that). All his toil is worth it for the look on Kyung’s face, the way he grins and hugs Jiho widely, even if the way he raises his eyebrow is a little skeptical.

//

They eat with Kyung sitting on the counter, his thighs bracketing Jiho’s hips as Jiho watches him take his first bite. It’s burnt in the centre, but the overwhelming sweetness of the act has Kyung digging into it like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten anyway. The morning seems to place a full-stop to the terrors of the night, and eventually they have more mornings and less nights like that. 

Kyung moves back into the library and spends most of his time with his feet propped up on the lap of whoever’s there at any given moment (usually a cycle of Jaehyo and Taeil, and sometimes Jiho, though never at the same time with the other two) and his head buried in his books. It’s the hardest godamn semester he’s ever had to pull, but it helps that he’s looking over his shoulder less and less and less until he finds that the entire stretch of time he’d spent removed from his regular life feels more like a dream than anything else.

They’re studying in their dorm when Jiho comes to visit just past midnight, and at first Jaehyo looks surprised—Kyung knows that he knows that Jiho’d gone out of his way to avoid him, and vice versa. But Jiho comes bearing cups of coffee and donuts and looking as presentable as someone who’d just been socked in the cheek can be.

“You didn’t tell me,” Kyung says, around a mouthful of donuts, his lips powdered with castor sugar. In response, Jiho leans over to kiss the sugar off of him and Jaehyo makes a choked, disgusted sound that sounds like music to Kyung’s ears. They make small talk that Kyung interrupts when he figures Jiho’s going to tunnel a hole straight into the ground with how uncomfortably tense he’s sitting by telling Jaehyo to shut up as he draws Jiho to the couch, seating him down so Kyung can use him as a glorified pillow.

Jiho falls asleep, halfway through, though Kyung only notices when Jaehyo says, “So this is real, huh?”

“I feel like you don’t even listen to me when I talk,” Kyung says, as mulishly as someone who’s mostly sleep deprived can sound.

“That’s because you’re barely in my eyeline,” Jaehyo says over his laptop, propping his hand up on his chin as he watches them. Kyung wonders what he sees then, given that Kyung’s halfway on Jiho’s lap, and Jiho’s head is tucked in the curve of Kyung’s neck. He’s drooling just slightly, but that’s really the least of Kyung’s problems right now. “Hard to see, hard to hear.”

“Asshole,” Kyung shoots back, reaching over to grab an eraser to chuck it at Jaehyo. It bounces off his desk and comes clattering to the ground quietly, but the movement’s enough to stir Jiho awake. He looks startled, for a second, tense, like he’s alert and ready to fight. But then he sees Kyung and relaxes all over again, arms tightening as he mumbles something about Kyung being noisy and going straight back to sleep.

Things ease up after that. Not the part where he has to sit in an exam hall for two hours and solve problems like his life depends on it, but the part where Jaehyo invites Jiho to dinner, even if dinner’s a sad, soggy pizza that Jaehyo had taken home whilst legging it through the rain. And eventually, Jiho wins Taeil over with the promise of fast cars and violent punching, both of which has Kyung rolling his eyes because really, the person who had the most in common with Jiho at the table wasn’t Kyung, the math major, nor Jaehyo, the photography major, but Lee Taeil.

His exams end on the day of their hall party, and Kyung drinks his way into a new level of drunk that involves a godamn tree climbing competition that, unsurprisingly, Jaehyo wins. Later still, Kyung calls Jiho to tell him—or shout at him, really—that there’s no one he loves more in the world, and Jiho turns up in the middle of the slowly dying party, to find one Park Kyung with splinters in his hands and a grin that seems more manic than happy. Kyung tries his hardest to initiate some kind of making out session, but they end up standing in the secluded balcony with their arms wrapped around each other, swaying gently (and slightly off-beat) to the muffled sounds of EDM music thudding from inside the house.

Jiho doesn’t quite make it back to church; Kyung never asks, and Jiho never offers. But Kyung finds his way into Jiho’s apartment. It starts with a couple of clothes, then a toothbrush, and then his mother asks if he’s even going to bother sleeping at home any more, and if he isn’t, can she use his room to store her new piano? Kyung bursts out laughing—because they’ve talked about not moving in, they’ve talked about taking it slow, but he supposes there isn’t a time they didn’t go from 0 to 100—and tells her she can do whatever she wants.

Jaehyo and Taeil come over for dinner after Kyung convinces Jiho that this was a normal thing to do (and feels a little shitty, after, for leveraging on the idea of normalcy). But they put on a movie and then share some take-out and this, Kyung thinks, is truly the closest he can get to how he’d imagined his life would’ve turned out, had he not met Jiho in that laundromat all those months ago. He’s in the middle of losing an argument (“If I load the dishes, you gotta take out the trash,” Taeil insists, plopping himself down onto the couch, firmly refusing to budge) when he overhears the sounds of Jaehyo talking to Jiho out on the balcony.

“Kyung told me you had a difficult time growing up,” he’s saying, and Kyung stops in the middle of tying up the bag to eavesdrop. Which he shouldn’t be doing, but he just can’t help himself. “I just wanted to… apologise, y’know? For treating you like shit during Mino’s party. And _after_ Mino’s party.” 

//

Jiho’s never been normal.

Ever since day one, it became quickly apparent that what was normal for him – his mother screaming at his father, and then drinking herself into a stupor and beating Jiseok or him – was not normal for everyone else, and it had just pushed him away from everything all the more. Even when Jiseok had left him, leaving him to the mercy of his mother’s rages, that was still just another shade of normal. It all blended together for him until it became clear that he was stuck on the path of violence that he’d been so familiar with for so long; he had resigned himself to it. That was his normal – killing for money and sleeping most of the rest of the time.

Except now he really _is_ living a normal life, and he’s surprised to find how well it fits. If you had asked ten-year-old Jiho, trembling as Jiseok pushed him out of the way for their mother to smack him instead, if he’d ever have a normal life the answer would be _no_. If you’d asked sixteen-year-old Jiho, roaring as he’s pushed into lockers over and over again, chants of _homo fag_ surrounding him, if he’d ever have a normal life the answer would be _no_. If you’d asked twenty-two year old Jiho, firing his gun with a stony face and ending someone’s life the same way someone else might swat a fly, if he’d ever have a normal life the answer would be incredulous laughter.  

So how he finds himself standing on the balcony with Jaehyo – with his _friend_ – while Kyung and Taeil have a spat inside, he’s not entirely sure. He knows, logically, that everything had shifted that day when his washing machine had broken and he’d trekked it to the laundromat; that had sent him hurtling down an entirely different path, one he never could have predicted. But he’s still confused, even as he regards Jaehyo, who looks guilty as he apologises.

Jiho shrugs and smiles. “It’s okay. I deserved it, for sending Kyung off on his _Eat, Pray, Love_ tour.”

They head back inside and goad the other two into helping with the chores, and by the time the monumental scissors-paper-rock game (that had really turned into a tournament) is over and the chores are done it’s late and Jaehyo and Taeil say their goodbyes, Jaehyo moaning about Taeil’s driving skills.

And then he’s left alone with Kyung, and when Jiho looks at him he still can’t quite believe all that’s happened, wonders if he ever will. Because how can he, when his life so far has been such a miserable shit-fest it’s almost comedy? He certainly doesn’t deserve Kyung, he knows that, they both do – and perhaps it shows on his face because Kyung cocks his head and asks, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

The answer, of course, is obvious: _how are you even real?_ But Jiho doesn’t need to say that, because they both know that in this incredibly fucked-up universe they were lucky enough to find each other and in the face of that the _hows_ don’t really matter. So he just smiles and pulls Kyung closer, feeling Kyung’s arms slip around his waist, and not for the first time marvels at how perfectly they fit together like this. “Because I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he murmurs, tipping his face down to kiss Kyung, knowing he’ll never get sick of this, not ever.

Yes, it’s here in the kitchen of his little apartment, boxes of Kyung’s stuff strewn everywhere, the memories of all the shit they’ve been through seeming so very foreign and far away that Jiho knows, he knows – he has found his normal at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, if you made it this far – thank you for coming on this journey with us.
> 
> And what a journey it was.


End file.
